Kissed by a Rose
by SamoaPhoenix9
Summary: Mature content Beauty and the Beast. Belle comes to the castle burdened by an unspeakable secret and a deeply wounded spirit. The Beast carries betrayal in his own past. Can they still learn to love, and to trust, one another? Complete!
1. Prologue

**Kissed by a Rose**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast. I can dream, sure, but that's about it._

_Author's Note: *Please read before continuing!* This story is rated M due to the adult nature of its content. There is rape involved in the storyline. I am telling you this now so it will not come as a surprise later, not to turn you off. However, in exchange for your understanding, as the author I promise to be as tasteful as possible. I can tell you now you will never read the actual rape scene. This story is concerns the results, not the act itself._

_SamoaPhoenix9_

**Prologue**

Once upon a time, in a small province in France, a young prince lived in a shining castle. As his parents' only and much-loved child, he had everything his heart desired. He grew up surrounded by servants and toys, and had every reason to be spoiled, selfish, and unkind. However, his father, who was a son of the King of France and a prince himself, was a good and fair ruler and did his best in what little time he could spare to see that his heir was brought up with a keen sense of justice. From a young age, the boy was given the strictest tutors, and had to spend one day a week watching his father govern disputes that his subjects brought to him for judgment. In this way, he hoped his son might grow up to carry on his legacy as an honest and impartial ruler.

The young prince disliked studying, as many active children do, but he feared to disappoint his father. So he worked hard with his tutors and lived for the few words of praise his father might bestow if he happened to hear his son was doing well. As a result, the prince had few friends his own age and little idea of the world outside his classroom, except for the petitions brought before his father.

The prince's mother was a lovely, cheerful woman who was much younger than her husband. Their marriage had been arranged, but it seemed a companionable one. Indeed, the prince's father depended a great deal upon his wife for her council in many matters of state. He trusted her above all his other advisors, and it was often upon her knee that the young prince sat when his father held court.

Unfortunately, this seeming idyll did not last. When the young prince was nine years old, it was discovered that his mother had had an adulterous affair with one of the palace grooms early on in her marriage. Though it had ended long before their son was born, and he could easily have shown leniency, her husband felt so betrayed by the woman he had loved and trusted that he decreed that both she and her former lover must die by beheading.

The day of the execution was a warm day in early autumn, but the young prince was as cold and numb as if it were the dead of winter. His father had insisted that he attend, "so that he could see that justice had been done," but the young prince had never cared less about justice. All he saw was his dear mother, dressed in rags and stripped of all trappings of royalty, standing on a scaffold begging her husband for her life. But he refused to be moved, and gestured that the execution be carried out.

The young prince looked away as the headsman raised his axe. He buried his head in the ample skirts of his former nurse, Mrs. Potts, who had since moved on to become one of the castle cooks but had steadfastly attached herself to his side the moment his mother had been arrested. Her presence had been a great comfort to him, marred only by the fact that she was expecting a child. Her obviously impending motherhood only served as a reminder that he was soon to be deprived of his own mother. Now, Mrs. Potts wisely put her hands over her charge's ears so that he would be spared hearing the _swish _of the axe as it came down. He clung to her even tighter, pressing himself against her so hard that he could feel the kicking of the child within her. He squeezed his eyes shut. Even so, he knew when the axe landed. His heart gave a great _thump _that did not mask the sound the axe made when it buried itself in the wooden block his mother had placed her neck upon. He did not dare look again. Mrs. Potts led him inside and up to his room with his face still buried in her skirt.

In the months that followed, it was observed that the young prince's father was no longer the same man he had been when his wife was alive. He still went about his duties at first, but there was no sparkle in his eyes. He steadily began to refuse to eat and to lock himself in his rooms in the West Wing of the castle for hours, and then days, at a time. When he did appear, he was pale as a ghost and perpetually wore a look of exhaustion. The servants whispered he had realized his mistake in executing his beloved wife and was pining away for regret and love of her.

During this time, everyone seemed to have briefly forgotten about the young prince. He heard all the gossip, many times without the servants realizing he was present. He still attended his lessons in the hope that his father might hear of some small success and perhaps feel better because of it. However, nothing changed. The castle, which had once seemed bright and shining while his mother was alive, now hovered in a perpetual state of grayish twilight. Everyone seemed to be waiting, though for what, he had no idea.

And then one day, nearly a year after his mother's death, he heard a new rumor: that his father was ill, dreadfully so, and no doctor could discover a cure. The servant upon whom the young prince was eavesdropping stated confidently that a cure was unlikely to be found, for the cure for heartbreak had yet to be divined.

All happened as the servant had predicted. Within a month of the day the prince had first heard that his father might die, Mrs. Potts came into his room, carrying her infant son, to tell him that he was now the Master of the castle and all its lands. The young prince did not speak again for days. He could not even find the voice to protest when his things were moved to his parents' former suite in the West Wing.

The afternoon of his father's funeral, the prince found himself kneeling beside the freshly turned earth that the gravediggers had just finished filling in. He felt his heart growing full of the icy cold that had numbed him at his mother's death. His parents' love for each other hadn't been able to save his mother from her fate, and his father was now dead because of that love. This cold around his heart was safer. With it in place, he hardly felt the impulse to care about anything.

From that day on, the prince was ungovernable. The quiet, studious, goodhearted boy vanished, replaced by an angry, demanding young man who shouted at the slightest hint of his will being crossed. He frustrated so many tutors that by his twelfth birthday Cogsworth, the head of the household, simply stopped hiring them. No matter how any of the servants threatened or cajoled, even the recently widowed Mrs. Potts, the prince did as he pleased. The servants themselves dared not directly contradict him, because he was now their ruler and held their lives and livelihoods within his hands. It was fortunate that a regent council had been set up to handle all of the official business until the prince came of age, or the province might have been ruined by neglect.

And so it went, until the winter after the prince turned fourteen. On Christmas Eve, an old beggar woman appeared at the castle doors and offered a single rose to the master of the house in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold. She insisted upon presenting her gift personally, so the guards led her inside to the throne room. The prince was repulsed by her haggard appearance. Everything in his small world was always clean and looked its best, and he found the beggar woman's dirty clothing and skin disgusting. Nor was he in need of a rose; he had many more expensive and beautiful Christmas presents. He therefore sneered at the old woman's humble gift and turned her away.

Before the guards could lead her out, the old woman warned the prince that he was allowing appearances to deceive him and that true beauty was found within, not without. The prince could not imagine how she had come to know his thoughts so closely, but he was unable to make sense of her words. He himself felt almost nothing inside, least of all beautiful. And he looked at others and saw all he needed to see. To know someone any deeper risked the pain he'd felt at his parents' deaths again. He scoffed at the crone's warning and dismissed her again.

Immediately, the old woman's ugliness melted away. A beautiful enchantress in gorgeous green robes stood in her place. She seemed almost sad as explained that she had looked into his future and seen the misery for all involved if things continued as they were now. She had resolved to do something to change that future, but first she had come to offer him one final test, to see if anything yet remained of his human feeling. He had failed.

The prince tried to apologize, the first time he had done so in years, but it was far too late. The enchantress had seen for herself that he felt no love in his heart. She touched him with her wand, and he was instantly transformed into a hideous beast. The enchantress explained that his outward appearance now matched what was inside him. He had but one chance to alter his fate: he had to learn to love another, and earn her love in return. The rose the enchantress had offered was bespelled to mark the years, and if he failed by the time the last petal fell, in his twenty-fifth year, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

The enchantress then turned to the servants and cast another spell on them, and upon the castle itself, so that they matched how the prince had perceived them since his father's death. The servants became nothing more than walking, talking household objects. The castle ceased to be its shining self and became dark and foreboding, full of gargoyles and nightmare shadows. If the prince achieved his goal and found love in the next ten years, everything would be restored to the way it had been before. If not, then the household and castle would remain trapped in their new forms as well.

The enchantress offered one gift to the former prince: a magic mirror, which would show anything it was asked. Then she vanished, leaving the castle's inhabitants to attempt to come to terms with their new state.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the prince, now calling himself the Beast, concealed himself inside the castle. It seemed that the Enchantress had anticipated even this, for the magic mirror became his only, and infrequently used, window to the outside world.

The rose was placed carefully under a bell jar to prevent as many petals from falling as possible. It remained in the Beast's rooms in the West Wing, a silent, glowing reminder of the passage of time in a castle that had, for all other intents and purposes, become frozen at the moment the enchantress had disappeared.

And time did pass. As days became months, and months became years, the creature who had once been a prince slowly fell into despair, and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a Beast?

_

* * *

Author's Note: It's me again. The last note was just an impersonal warning. I have a few things I want to say as this story gets started. The first is that this story is named for the song "Kiss from a Rose" by Seal, which of course I don't own._

_I've often wondered about motivations for the characters in Beauty and the Beast. Sure, we're told the prince is spoiled, selfish, and unkind, but how did he get that way? Other fanfic authors have offered theories, usually having to do with the deaths of his parents and the inability of the servants to discipline him as he grew. I took a variant on this._

_I've also wondered about why the Enchantress chose to show up at the castle in the first place. Was she watching the prince for years and decided things weren't going to change unless something drastic happened? Was she afraid for what would happen to his subjects under such an unfeeling man? Or was she simply wandering by and decided to randomly test the local ruler for her own amusement? This is an important question, especially since the prince was so young when the curse was put on him._

_Which brings me to another issue. I've decided to slightly alter Disney canon here, because if you do the math, the prince was eleven when he was cursed. Cursing an eleven-year-old for being unable to love? Yikes. Never mind that he looks older than eleven in the opening sequence of stained glass windows, his portrait on the wall of the West Wing, and the flashback in The Enchanted Christmas. I decided to move up his age so that he's almost fifteen when he's cursed and has until twenty-five to break it. The interval is still ten years, and it seems much more reasonable to be able to find love in this time period rather than eleven to twenty-one._

_I think that's all I wanted to say. Hope you stick around for more!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	2. Belle

**Chapter 1**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast, or its characters. I just own all the collective stuff and writing I've accumulated over the years that says 'Beauty and the Beast' on it._

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!"

The townsfolk called their morning greetings from their windows. Belle tried to smile cheerfully, her neck getting its usual cramps as she attempted to at least nod to everyone who shouted at her. A day just the same as the one before. She would have thought, after living in this small, provincial town for over a year, her neck would have gotten used to all the turning it had to do to properly execute the morning ritual. Certainly she'd never noticed any of the other women wincing or rubbing their necks as they strolled about the square doing their family's shopping. At the end of fifteen minutes within the cobblestoned town proper, Belle usually found herself doing both. Still, she tried her best to enjoy the unthinking cheerfulness with which everyone greeted her. It might not last much longer.

"Good morning, Belle!" Someone greeted her by name, bringing her out of her reverie.

It was the baker, bearing his usual tray of fresh bread to the customers who paid him to deliver it rather than come and fetch it themselves. At the moment, it was empty, as they were right outside his shop and he was returning to fetch more. "Good morning, monsieur," she returned. The big, bluff baker was not someone to shy away from; he had always been kind to her, in an uninterested sort of way.

"The usual?" he asked.

"A few loaves extra, please."

"Of course." He took her basket and passed it to his wife inside the shop. "What's the occasion?"

"Papa leaves for the big fair this afternoon. I need to pack him provisions for the trip."

"Ah." The baker shrugged. "And where else are you off to today?" His toe began to tap.

"The bookshop." Belle smiled, remembering how this latest book had carried her away from her present problems. "I just finished the most wonderful story, about a beanstalk, and an ogre—"

"That's nice." The baker clearly had ceased listening when she started to babble, but Belle was used to this. She had similar exchanges with at least one store proprietor a week. "Marie!" the baker bellowed at his wife. "The baguettes! Hurry up!"

"They're just coming out now!" Marie, who was the same size as her husband, snapped at him as she came to the door. The baker snorted and tapped his toe louder. She ignored him, and handed Belle her basket with a harried smile. "Here you are, dear. I managed to fit the extra in around your book. You're looking well."

Belle's heart jumped, but she managed to force out a polite "Thank you," before she hurried away. 'Looking well…' it was probably an entirely innocent comment, but she was so nervous about anyone discovering her secret that she was starting to grow paranoid. _I've got to get ahold of myself, or someone _will _get suspicious, _she thought as she made her way down the street. _I just have to hold out until Papa gets back from the big fair in Marseilles. Another week, at most._ She'd pinned all her hopes on it.

The life of the little town was going on all around her. Shopkeepers hawking merchandise, customers complaining about prices, children chasing one another and getting underfoot, people greeting their next-door neighbors as if they hadn't just seen them the day before. Belle hardly noticed the clamor out of pure habit; in the big cities where she'd lived most of her life, people generally went about their business with regard only to things that happened in their immediate vicinity. Things happening on the other end of the street hardly mattered, because odds were you'd never see the people involved again.

Here in a provincial village, things were different. What was happening down the street seemed to be the business of everyone, and to pass by people with indifference, even unintended indifference, was a snub of the highest offence. It was also hard to live down honest social mistakes. Belle occasionally listened to gossip around the edges of her books. She was still the girl with her head in the clouds, dazed and distracted, aloof in her manner and odd in her ways. Different. The most frequent complaint was that she always had her nose in a book. That much was true; Belle never went anywhere without a book on her person. But she had made attempts during the first few months to improve her social skills, in acknowledging greetings and engaging in small talk. For all the good it had done her. These days, she kept as much to herself as she could manage without causing more gossip.

She arrived at her intended destination: the bookshop. "Ah, Belle!" the proprietor exclaimed warmly as he finished straightening the books in the window.

"Good morning," she answered. "I've come to return the book I borrowed." She fished it out of her basket and handed it over.

"Mmm." The bookseller sniffed its cover with a smile. "Smells like fresh-baked bread. Might entice the next customer who picks it up. Finished it already, did you?"

"Couldn't put it down." Belle shrugged guiltily. "I shirked a few of my chores because I couldn't peel myself away. Lucky Papa's been working so much on his new invention he didn't notice, and the animals all got fed. Mending can wait until today, after Papa's gone." She'd have to get a lot better at sewing soon anyway, though it was by no means her favorite activity. She turned and began browsing the shelves, running a fond fingertip over each binding. All titles she had already read. "Haven't you got anything new?" she finally asked.

The bookseller chuckled. "Dear girl, not since yesterday!"

Belle flushed. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean…"

"Belle, you're the most avid reader I've ever seen in this village. It would not surprise me at all to find you've read my entire stock. And I know you are used to a much wider selection. I can only apologize to my best customer for not satisfying her needs. If you can wait until the new shipment comes in next week…"

"That's all right," Belle assured him. Privately, she shuddered at the thought of spending days in the cottage while her father was gone, alone but for her nightmares. A book would ease that like nothing else, especially if it was one she'd read before. "I'll find something."

She returned to scanning the shelves. A book bound in blue cloth caught her eye. The gold lettering of its title had slightly peeled off, proclaiming it to be secondhand. Why someone would ever willingly let it go was a mystery to Belle. "I'll borrow this one," she said confidently, pulling it from between its fellows.

The bookseller put on his glasses to examine it. "That one? Again? But you've read it twice!"

"Oh, it's my favorite!" Belle exclaimed. In point of fact she had read it more than twice; a much-battered, dog-eared copy of this selfsame book was one of the many unnecessary possessions she'd had to give up in order for her father to be able to afford their cottage. She stroked the book's top reverently. "Far off-places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise! I'd give anything to live in this book."

She felt it being pressed back into her hands. "If you like it all that much, it's yours."

"Thank—" Belle stopped as the bookseller's actual words sunk into her head. She shoved the book back into his arms. "But, sir! I could never take this. I can't afford it, not now that all our money's in Papa's latest invention. And after you've already been so kind to me, letting me borrow your books without payment—"

"Don't argue, Belle. As I said, you're my best customer. I need to make it up to you for not having something new. And I daresay you are one of the few in the village I consider a kindred spirit. Don't look so surprised," he smiled. "You're not the only oddity in town; you're just the more recent addition and therefore attract a bit more attention. People have gotten used to me." He paused, and gently fitted the book into her hands. "I insist."

Belle didn't have the strength to hand it back again. She knew she should, and if it were any other book, she would have. But not _Arthur and Guinevere_. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you very much." She hugged it close.

The bookseller saw her to the door. "What's happened to you, Belle?" he asked suddenly. "Time was you'd have been dancing around the shop at the thought of owning another book. You've been very quiet, these last weeks."

"Have I?" Belle answered vaguely. Suddenly she felt as though a very bright light was concentrated on her. She shrank backwards slightly, away from her friend's kind concern. For a moment, she wavered towards telling him the truth, but quickly stopped herself. The risk was too great someone would overhear. "There's nothing wrong. I'm fine."

His brow furrowed. Clearly this was not the answer he wanted, but he chose to let it go. "All right. Take care of yourself, Belle."

"Thank you. I'll try."

Belle couldn't resist doing something she knew drove the rest of the town crazy: the moment she left the shop, she opened her new book and began to read as she walked, basket still balanced skillfully in the crook of one arm. It was an art she'd practiced growing up in cities like Paris, Lyons, and Marseilles; by now she was so good at it she never bumped into anything. Busy as the town was, there were much fewer obstacles to dodge than on a main Paris thoroughfare.

Whispers followed her, as they always did when she read in public. _"So peculiar…nose stuck in a book…beautiful, but rather odd…"_ As always, she ignored them.

Glancing at the sun, she saw that she had a few extra minutes out of the time she'd allotted for her errands. The vegetable seller she favored wouldn't have her wares out quite yet, so there was no rush. Belle settled herself on the edge of the well to read undisturbed for a bit.

She'd skipped right to her favorite part of the book, where Arthur was meeting Guinevere for the first time. They were both quite young, and he was just a lowly orphaned squire, unaware of his royal heritage as the King of All England. A prince in disguise indeed, even from himself. Guinevere was a spoiled king's daughter, but somehow they were drawn to each other. They would not see one another again for several years, until their wedding day in chapter three, where Guinevere would discover the squire she had secretly fallen in love with was in fact her intended, her prince charming! Belle found the mystery of the whole thing very romantic.

She read longer than she'd meant to, and when she looked at the sun again her heart sank. If she didn't hurry, the men who had gone out at dawn to hunt would be returning to the village and she might see _him._ She'd successfully avoided seeing him in town for weeks, though he'd come to her house at least every few days to put his unthinkable question to her again. If the scene became any more public, however, Belle was afraid of what might happen. Gathering up both book and basket, she hurried to the vegetable seller's stall.

Negotiations on produce did not take long, and Belle took up her book to make the trek across town towards the cottage more bearable. She dodged and wove expertly through the crowd, most of whom paid her no notice. A bang erupted from behind her. Only one person would be foolish enough, and overconfident enough, to shoot in the middle of town. Belle's heart jumped, but she steeled herself. So he was in town after all. Perhaps he would be so caught up in hunting he would never see her.

The town was continuing its business around her, which was a hopeful sign. Hardly anyone in town had the skill she had of slipping through crowds. Even if he were trying to reach her, he'd never catch her.

She was almost to the small bridge that crossed the stream which marked the town's border when her book was rudely snatched from her hands. Belle turned angrily, but quailed at once when she saw who held her book.

"Hello, Belle," the big man said to her. He smiled in what he probably thought was a charming way, but to Belle it was almost feral: all teeth, and a predator's instinct behind them. She could feel her knees start to quiver and her vision start to narrow, but to faint now would be the worst thing to do. She would not put herself in his power again, not in any way, not if she could help it.

To do that, she would at all costs have to keep him from learning he was the father of the child hidden within her.

"Bonjour, Gaston," she replied, as steadily as she could.


	3. Flowers in the Window

**Chapter 2**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast, nor any of the characters from the movie._

"May I have my book back, please?" Belle asked after a few seconds. She reached out, but Gaston moved it away from her easily. He opened it and flipped through a few pages.

"There's no pictures," he commented after a second.

"No, there aren't," Belle agreed. If she didn't say anything too provoking, maybe she could still escape him. "May I please have it back now?"

"How can you read books without pictures? I thought that was all you were reading."

"I've been reading books without pictures for a long time, Gaston." Since she was eight years old, as a matter of fact. Still, Belle hesitated to say anything he might deem annoying. The last time had gotten her into far too much trouble. She clasped her basket in front of her and looked steadfastly at the toes of his boots.

"That's what I like to see in you, Belle. Womanly shyness. It suits you to behave as a girl ought, and not waste your time with trash like this." His weight shifted slightly, and Belle heard a splash behind him. Hot anger raced around inside her. She could now see her book clearly. It was in a deep puddle of mud.

Before she could slip around him to fetch it, he put a heavy arm around her shoulders. "Why don't we take a walk to the tavern? You can admire my trophies, and we can talk about our future together."

Belle panicked at his touch. "No!" she said, louder than she meant to. Luckily, they were on the edge of town, and only a few people turned to look at them. She slid out of his grasp and made towards the bridge, unfortunately tripping over Gaston's lackey, Lefou, whom she had only just realized was also present. Both of them went down in a mud puddle. Belle only just managed to save her basket of vegetables and bread, but her dress and apron were soaked.

She scrabbled on her knees out of the puddle. Luckily for her, it was the same one her book had fallen into, and she scooped it into her apron. Doubly lucky, it hid anything her clinging wet dress might reveal.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, to both Lefou and Gaston.

Lefou was kinder, and could always be counted on to speak before he thought. "It's not the first time I've been dumped in a mud puddle." He glanced at Gaston, and cringed away at the look of fury on the big man's face. "Gosh, Gaston, it's not a big thing! Look, she's still here!"

Gaston responded with a slap on the back of the head that sent Lefou's face back into the mud. "You got her all dirty, Lefou! Now she's not fit to be seen on my arm at the tavern!"

"Yes!" said Belle, glad for the ready-made excuse. "Yes, I have to go home and change my clothes. And, I promised my father I'd help him with his invention. Today's not a good day to have visitors; we'll be busy." She was already backing towards the bridge, basket and book in hand.

"You can go change and get that mud out of your hair. I'll see you later," Gaston said.

"We'll be _busy_, Gaston," Belle answered, letting just a little of her exasperation show. "And there won't be much to talk about, besides."

"You know there's plenty for us to talk about. What sort of curtains you want, when you're going to learn how to cook my favorite meals…"

"Not today, Gaston." Not on any day, if she could help it. Belle paused, one foot on the bridge. "I'm sorry for tripping over you, Lefou."

Lefou shrugged, a gesture impossible to read. Gaston watched Belle with folded arms, obviously displeased. "Still playing hard to get, I see. How much longer do we have to keep up this little charade?"

"I have to go home," she said, still backing away. When she was at the peak of the bridge, eyes still on Gaston and Lefou, an explosion from behind her made her whirl around. Smoke rising from the cellar doors told her immediately what had happened. Terrible images began to flash through her mind. Her papa, all she had left, gone…

"Papa!" she cried, racing towards home.

Behind her, she heard Gaston snort with laughter. "That crazy lunatic, he'd better not burn the village down next time—"

Her fury that he even thought she would marry him when he would stand by and watch her father die made her run even faster.

She reached the cottage quickly. The cellar doors, which opened from outside the house, felt like they weighed nothing at all as she flung them open. A billow of smoke curled out, causing her to stumble backwards, coughing and choking. She waved a hand in front of her to clear some of the smoke away. _This can't be good for the baby, _she thought, a little worriedly. She moved to the side of the doors so the rest of the smoke could clear away without her having to breathe it.

"P-papa?" she called, around a final cough.

A sneeze was her response. The tight feeling in her chest eased almost at once. If her father was well enough to sneeze, then he was probably fine.

"Papa?" she called again, putting her head into the cellar. Most of the smoke had already risen through the door and one broken window. The room was still hazy, but she could make out a moving figure. He seemed rounder than usual, however.

"Here, Belle," her father said.

"Thank goodness," Belle replied, making her way down the steps to the earthen floor. "You scared me half to death! Are you all right?"

Her father, Maurice, came into view. Belle had to stifle a laugh when she saw what had happened. He had clearly been flung backwards in the explosion, plunging him into a large empty barrel conveniently stored in the cellar. The wooden container had kept him safe, but now he was hard-pressed to get out of it, as he was shaped much like the barrel.

"Fine, fine, no thanks to that hunk of junk," Maurice grumbled. His round head bobbed in the direction of his invention, which sat innocently on its wheels. It was no longer smoking, Belle was pleased to see.

"Here, let me help you," she said. Between the two of them, they managed to extricate him from the barrel by pulling it apart.

"Thank you," Maurice groused. He glared at the invention, then sighed in a defeated sort of way. "I don't know, Belle. I'm starting to think I'll never get this thing ready in time for the fair."

"Oh, no!" Belle was genuinely dismayed. She'd been counting on the machine to win first prize, or at least a good amount of money, so they could move away from the village before her pregnancy became too obvious. If gossip got around, people would demand to know who the father of the child was. To preserve her honor and the child's status as legitimate, Belle would be married to Gaston in a heartbeat. She would get no say in it; not even her father would be able to halt the time-honored process. The idea of her child—children, for there would surely be more—being raised by such a man made her shudder. She hadn't told Maurice of her condition, not wanting to pressure him with even more responsibility before the fair. Maurice was a worrier by nature; he would work even more slowly if he knew how much was riding on his success. Her plan had been to tell him the moment he got home with the money.

"Papa," she began, trying to hide her desperation. "I know you can fix this. You have before. And you'll win first prize at the fair."

Maurice raised an eyebrow at her. "You really believe that?"

"I always have," Belle said affectionately. She was not just telling him this to boost his confidence; as a child she had literally believed he could do anything. They had so many small conveniences around their various city homes that it had taken her some time to realize other children did not have devices that automatically cracked eggs perfectly or allowed you to see who was at the door before you opened it. Even after they had lost all their money on a failed invention, Belle had still believed he could turn things around for them.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Maurice studied her face. Then he smiled. "Well, what are we waiting for? I'll have this thing fixed in no time!"

Belle grinned with delight. "How can I help?"

"Hand me…" Maurice considered, looking over the long series of pipes that somehow made the machine go. "Yes, here's the break. Hand me my dog-legged clincher, if you don't mind." It was only when Belle had found the tool and brought it to him that he blinked, and looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "Why, Belle! You're all muddy! What happened?"

In all the excitement, Belle had completely forgotten the state of her clothes. "Oh…it's nothing. I tripped on the way home." She tried vainly to pick some of the mud off one of her sleeves.

"What have I told you about reading and walking?" Maurice asked. "Two things that should _not _be done at the same time."

"Yes, Papa," Belle said meekly.

"Well, go on up and change. Then come back here and you can help me get this blasted thing ready. I think I might know what the problem was." He disappeared under the machine.

Belle obediently went out the cellar doors and into the house, where she changed her muddy dress and apron for another identical pair. The cloth merchant had practically given away all his merchandise in this particular shade of blue, claiming there was no one else in the world the color would suit. Belle was grateful for the excess. Soon she would have to be letting out her dresses, anyway. She put her muddy clothes to soak in a laundry tub, rinsed the worst of the mud from her hair, and went out to help Maurice.

Belle enjoyed being her father's assistant. She didn't know how his inventions worked, but she knew where all the tools and parts were, so it was her job to hand him things when he asked. She had done this often as a child, but since the death of her mother several years earlier she had taken on all the household chores herself and no longer had much time. She had missed their easy conversations. However, Belle was dismayed to find how far apart she and her father had grown despite living in such close quarters.

"Papa?" she began tentatively after a few moments. "Do you think I'm…odd?" She really wanted his opinion; if even the bookseller thought she was strange, it might be true. Before coming to this small town, she had never considered it before. She would always be different in any crowd, now, because of the baby, and she had at least partially begun to accept it. But she had never felt so alone in her life as she had in the past year.

Maurice looked startled. "My daughter, odd? Where did you get an idea like that?" Since he was wearing the lenses of his own invention that magnified his eyes many times and made him look like an overlarge insect, Belle did not find this reassuring. And she felt a sinking in her stomach. She had thought her father knew her better than that.

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I don't know. I just don't think I fit in here. There's no one I can really talk to."

"That Gaston's been around quite a bit, these past few months," Maurice pointed out. "He's handsome enough, and I've heard he's quite a hunter. He'd be a good provider. I know you keep turning him down, but—"

Not her father, too! "He's handsome, all right. And I suppose he's a good hunter; good enough to hunt in the village without anybody getting hurt."

Maurice rolled himself out from under his invention to raise an eyebrow at her.

"I know, but only one man would be brash enough not to think of the danger to other people. He's also rude, and conceited, and rough, and…" Belle trailed off before she said too much. "I can't stand to be near him for more than a minute, let alone think of a lifetime as his wife. Papa, he's _not_ for me. Not ever."

Maurice studied her face a moment longer, then gave a slight nod. He vanished back under the machine, though he continued to talk. "Well, that settles it, doesn't it? I would be the last person to force you to get married before you're ready. Your mother and I married for love, even though she was class, and we never regretted it. I'd never deny you your own chance at happiness."

_If only it were that easy, _Belle sighed to herself. What he was describing sounded just like the fairy tales she read, where true love always won out. Once she, too, had believed it might possible to find the kind of love her parents had had for one another. But now? She could hardly expect it. What sane man would take a woman with a child out of wedlock? Refusing Gaston meant refusing to get married at all.

Oblivious to Belle's sad turn of mind, Maurice had been moving around his invention, tightening a cog here, checking a pipe soldering there. "I think that's done it," he said, stepping back. To Belle, nothing looked different, other than all of the pieces that had been broken in the previous explosion had been repaired.

"Are you sure, Papa?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.

"The only way to know is to try it out. Here goes!" Maurice pulled firmly on a lever. The invention let out an ear-splitting whistle, causing both Belle and her father to cover their ears. Cogs began to churn; gears ground into motion. Maurice backed away slightly, and Belle could not help attempting to duck behind his more reassuring frame. She noticed as she did Maurice had closed his eyes.

More noise issued from the machine, but nothing that seemed to indicate an explosion was forthcoming. Instead, the sounds settled down into a more regular churning. Maurice straightened slightly.

The axe that was the focal point of the entire contraption began to swing. Up it went, and down, leaving a sizable dent in the log it had been set to chop. Up again, and back. After three more chops, the log split neatly into two perfect halves. First one half and then the other were then jettisoned over Belle and Maurice's heads to the woodpile.

"It works!" Belle exclaimed. She watched joyfully as the machine fed another log to be chopped, and began to work on it as well.

"It does?" Maurice sounded almost surprised. He ducked as a split log flew neatly over his head. "It does work! It does!"

Belle ducked as well, going to her knees in order to hug her father. "You really did it this time, Papa! You're going to win first prize, I just know it!" The idea of being forced to marry Gaston was, for only a moment, a distant concern.

Her father shared her enthusiasm. "Hitch up Philippe, girl! I'm off to the fair!"

_

* * *

Author's Note: I apologize if anyone thinks I'm sticking to the movie dialogue too closely. Deviations from the movie will become much more stark once Belle and the Beast are together in the castle, at the moment I'm establishing background._

_You will notice that Gaston is meaner at this point than in the movie. I made that deviation to make it more believable that Gaston would rape Belle, after a lot of thought about Gaston's character as it is established in the movie, and consultation with my fellow Beauty and the Beast lovers on the forum Bittersweet and Strange. I concluded that this is the best route, rather than stretching credibility to believe that beginning-movie Gaston would do such a thing. Post-mob Gaston (were he still alive), I think it's more likely. The seeds are there in his personality all along, and I am hoping to be able to show his motivations for his actions down the line. For the moment, bear with me. This is the hardest part: establishing the storyline believably while still leaving some questions to be answered._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	4. Respect

**Chapter 3**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or any of the characters from the movie._

Belle sat peacefully at the kitchen table. At the moment she was taking a break from mending, allowing herself another few pages of her new book in order to give her eyes something different to look at. A small, warm fire crackled in the hearth, with a kettle of tea hanging above it on an iron hook. The water would be boiling soon, and Belle was listening with half an ear for the pot's telltale whistle. Tea was one thing she could always keep down, even when her stomach could handle little else. It was lucky Belle read as much as she did, or she might have thought herself truly ill the first time she had inexplicably brought up her breakfast. She knew she was lucky; her morning sickness was infrequent and nowhere near crippling.

She turned a page. In the story, newly crowned Queen Guinevere was offering a riddle to Sir Gawain, one of her husband's knights, in exchange for mercy. Gawain had forced himself upon a helpless woman, and King Arthur's law decreed that such a man must die. However, Guinevere gave him a chance to save his own life by bringing her the answer to a question: what is it women most desire? In questing for the one true answer, Sir Gawain was able to redeem himself, and found a beautiful, faithful wife in the process. One of the things Belle liked most about this version of the King Arthur legend: Guinevere was as wise and clever a ruler as her husband. King and Queen were a partnership rather than a hierarchy.

The teapot whistled, and Belle went to remove it from the fire and add the tea leaves. She glanced towards the windows, which were letting in early afternoon light. Her father had left with his invention late the previous day on their big draft horse, Phillippe. Belle had spent the time since then taking care of mundane household chores interspersed with reading. Nighttime might have been a terror, especially since a storm had come through, but Belle had made certain no one could get to her by barricading all possible entrances to the house. After the last time she had been left alone, she was taking no chances. It helped that pregnancy seemed to come with often-numbing exhaustion. When dead to the world, she was beyond worry.

Belle settled back into her chair, sipping her tea. Soothing heat spread down her throat and throughout her body. Just as she was lifting the cup for a second sip, she heard it. Heavy footsteps coming up the dirt path. Only one man stalked like that.

The cup slipped from her hands to shatter on the floor. Tea flew everywhere. Belle stood frozen, watching the spreading liquid and hearing the bootfalls coming closer.

The knock—closer in force to a bang—finally roused her to move. Instead of heading for the door, she bent and began picking up the remains of the teacup. These she placed on the counter to be thrown out. Then she fetched a cloth to wipe up the spilled tea so it wouldn't stain the floor. All the time, she listened to the pounding becoming more insistent.

"Belle!" Gaston called through the door, his deep voice easily carrying. "Belle, open up!"

Belle looked around rather helplessly, casting around for something else to do. Anything to keep from having to answer the door.

"Belle, I know you're there!"

Belle sighed. There was no putting it off. However, no law said she had to actually open the door. Instead, she circled around to the window that opened onto the front porch.

Gaston was not surprised when the window swung out and Belle's face appeared; she had done this many times when he called on her. "There you are, Belle. Didn't you hear me calling?"

She ignored this. "Gaston, how many times do I have to tell you no?"

"No isn't an option, Belle. Everyone knows we're going to be married. I've been more than understanding of you not wanting to appear too eager, but this has gone on too long."

"When have I ever done something for the sake of appearances?" Belle asked, trying to hold her temper and keep her voice mild. If only she could get him to _think_ about it.

Gaston paused. His heavy brow furrowed for a moment. "What does that have to do with you and me, Belle? It's a simple one-plus-one. You keep trying to complicate things that really should be very easy."

"It's _not _easy, Gaston. You expect me to agree to marry you after—after—" She couldn't finish.

She could feel his displeasure like a rumbling, growing storm. "It should have made it easier for you to agree, not harder. The man who claims a girl's virginity should be her husband, don't you agree? It's only right."

"But they should already be _married_," Belle hissed. Couldn't he understand? He'd taken away her only power—her right to say no. The worst part was he didn't even realize it, or recognize she had such a right. "Please go away, Gaston. You have nothing more to say to me."

Now the anger was practically vibrating off him. "I tried asking you nicely. But I've gotten tired of waiting. I came here to give you one last chance to be mine. You're coming with me, now."

"Where?" Belle backed away from the window.

"The tavern. I've got the whole village waiting for me to appear with you on my arm. The priest is there, and everything is ready for the celebration. We'll be man and wife before dark."

"But—but—" Belle's mind stuttered over this, trying to process everything and at the same time figure a way out of it. "My father. He isn't here to give permission, or give me away."

"He won't mind; not when he knows it's me you're marrying. Besides, he knows we've been seeing each other these last months."

There was some truth to both of these statements, enough that Belle could think of no argument. Maurice had certainly noticed Gaston's attempts at courtship, and if not for his daughter's displeasure he would have willingly given Gaston permission to marry her. After their conversation the previous day, Belle knew her father wanted to see her safe and provided for.

None of this knowledge helped her present situation.

"I'm flattered that you went to so much trouble on my behalf," she said carefully. "But my answer is still no. Even if I wanted to marry you, I could never think of getting married without my father present, especially since my mother can't be there. And my father is gone for the next several days, as I'm sure you know." In fact, the hunter had probably timed things, as he had last time, to make certain she had no one to defend her.

"Belle, you _will _marry me. Tonight," Gaston growled.

"No."

"You're shaming me in front of the entire town. I _won't_ be rejected. Not this time." Gaston's face had been growing more and more threatening as he spoke. He raised a fist and punched the front door. It rattled ominously. Belle realized he meant to batter it down.

She whirled away from the window; first running to the door and barring it. Gaston crashed against it as the bolt slipped into place. Belle leapt away with a small cry. That wouldn't hold the huge man out for long.

A plan. She needed a plan. The heroes and heroines in her books always seemed to know exactly what to do in any crisis. They also seemed to have enough time to think things out rationally. All Belle's panic-stricken mind could really process was that she needed to get away. Far away.

She seized her cloak from its peg beside the door, her mind still frantically churning. Nowhere in the village was safe; they would think she was crazy not to want to marry the town hero, especially if it was discovered she was already carrying his child. Safety was only to be found with her father. He was several days away on foot, but at the moment no distance was too great as long as she was traveling away from Gaston.

If she slipped out the back, she'd be able to slip into the dusky woods. Gaston could easily track her; his prowess at hunting at least was not exaggerated. But if she could just make the main road she might be able to encounter someone who would take pity on her and allow her a ride. It was early evening, however, which she hoped meant Gaston would have difficulty following once he realized she was not in the house.

Into the kitchen she went. Half a loaf of bread, two apples, and a small wedge of cheese went into a cloth napkin, which Belle tied up into a bundle as she let herself out the kitchen door. She flung the cloak over her shoulders against the coming chill and drew the hood up over her head. With luck, the dark color of the cloak would disguise the paleness of her skin, blouse, and apron and allow her to blend into the rapidly drawing shadows.

She crossed the meadow behind her house as quietly as possible. Behind, her, the sound of Gaston still battering on the front door faded. This was a good indication that her escape had not been detected. Only when she had entered the third row of trees that heralded the great forest which bordered their village to the east did she feel her chest begin to move normally. She hadn't even been aware of holding her breath.

Stopping to rest was not an option. The light was quickly fading, and to be lost in the forest at night was just as unpleasant of a prospect as being found by Gaston.

Belle had been walking quickly through the undergrowth for about fifteen minutes when she blundered into a stream. Her shoes and ankles were soaked instantly, and she could not suppress a small gasp. She hadn't even noticed the water's presence until she'd stepped into it. This did not bode well for continuing her foray into the darkening forest for much longer.

However, she did recall that the road ran over a stream less than a mile from the village. If she followed the stream, likely she would eventually find the road. With renewed confidence, she lifted up her skirts and started off. Wet feet were nothing to having a direction.

Happily, another twenty minutes of stumbling through the stream led her to open meadow. There, not far ahead, was the road, its wooden bridge over the stream painted in purplish rosy hues by the sun. Belle's feet were numb by this point. Out of the stream she hauled herself, and spent a few minutes rubbing her toes to restore their feeling. Once she was able to walk without pain, she started down the road.

The sun set, and the entire landscape was bathed in blues and purples. In other circumstances, Belle would have paused to admire the beauty of the picture: dark woods surrounding, with the paler road stretching ahead of her. As it was, her nerves contrived to make both the path before and behind seem slightly menacing. She kept her ears alert for any sound.

A crashing noise! Belle's heart thumped, but it took her only seconds to realize the sound came from the path in front of her. She ducked into the underbrush beside the road.

Hoofbeats quickly became discernible within the crashing, along with the pants and snorts of an exhausted, frightened horse. Belle felt indignation rising in her chest, pushing aside her fear. She loved animals of all kinds, especially birds and horses. Who could be abusing a horse in such a manner?

She was already extricating herself from the bushes when the horse in question came into view down the road.

"Philippe!" she cried. For a moment, she dearly hoped her father might be astride him, but her hope soon turned to confusion. Her father was not a great horseman, but even he knew better than to drive a horse so hard.

Confusion became fear. Philippe had slowed at the sight of her, enough that Belle could see he bore no rider at all. The cart with her father's invention was still safely hitched to him, but Maurice was disturbingly absent.

"Philippe, steady!" Belle called. The horse slowed even more, plunging to a stop in the middle of the road with a slight rear. Belle could easily see the whites of his eyes in the gloom.

"Easy, Philippe, easy, boy," she soothed. Running up to him and throwing her arms about his neck would only startle him again, though she dearly wanted to do it. He had clearly sustained a bad fright; the poor thing was trembling all over. She approached slowly, talking to him in a quiet voice until he calmed enough to let her near him. She stroked his nose and whispered soothing-sounding words, though their meaning was not so calm.

"Where's Papa? Oh, where is he, Philippe? Did he get lost in the woods somewhere? You can't have reached the fair, to be back so soon." The horse dropped his head slightly to touch her shoulder.

"There's my good boy," she praised. With deft fingers despite the dark she began to undo the harness that bound him to her father's invention. "We'll just have to go look for him," she declared. "You'll have to take me there. It's a lucky thing you're so strong; you haven't been completely worn out yet. We'll have to be brave together. Like King Arthur and his faithful hound, Cavall." The comparison wasn't exactly appropriate, but the storied king didn't have a legendary warhorse, and his queen didn't have a pet at all that Belle knew of. Still, she felt better for saying it; it seemed to give them both a little courage.

The horse's cart detached, Belle took up the reigns. Philippe sent her a reproachful look, but he didn't object to her mounting his broad back. Compared to either her father or the invention, her weight was almost nothing. She was too early in pregnancy to be much heavier. Clucking to him, she turned him back in the direction he'd come. It pained her to leave Maurice's cherished invention in the road like so much refuse, but taking it to the house was not an option. She gave it a regretful look as she urged her horse down the road at an easy jog.

Philippe's timely appearance had solved her immediate problem for her: she could easily outdistance Gaston this way. He might come upon the abandoned cart and still never guess it was she who'd taken the horse from his ties. Her escape was as clean as anyone could have wished, considering the circumstances. The past was behind her, for now.

Ahead stretched a different slew of worries: where was her father? How had he and the horse become separated? And how could she possibly hope to find him in the woods between here and the fair? And if she did find him, what then?

"I trust you, Philippe," she whispered. The horse flicked an ear back to listen. "Let's find Papa together. The rest will work out. Somehow."


	5. How Long Must This Go On?

**Chapter 4**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast, or any of these characters._

Nine years, ten months, and two days. That was how long the rose had been glowing above the small marble table in the Beast's suite. So often in that ensuing time since the curse had been laid he had wished to lose track, for the months and years to dissolve into empty blurriness. The rose would not allow it. Some nasty part of its magic meant that every time he saw it, he knew exactly how much time had passed since that fateful Christmas.

And how much time he had left. Four months and fifteen days. He would be twenty-five the next time March showed on the calendar. Even the grace period that meant the curse would go a bit more than precisely ten years before becoming permanent was depressingly close.

Why had she done it? After all these years, the additional time felt like an extra curse rather than a blessing. Living nearly a decade with an impossible hope grew harder and harder to bear the longer it went on.

There had been times, so many times over the years, when he had made up his mind to crush the damned thing. He'd never gotten so far as to lift the bell jar that protected the rose, no matter how firm his resolve had been. He wasn't even certain destroying it would succeed in making the curse permanent before the allotted time was up. If it was a symbol only, then things would continue just as they had.

It would be nice not to know exactly how long he had, however.

On this particular late October day, the Beast had been engaged in his usual activities: a combination of brooding and pacing, occasionally punctuated with bouts of despair that could only be alleviated by hitting something with one of his massive paws. At the moment, he had returned to brooding over the rose, thinking for the thousandth time about what it represented.

Years of his life, gone. All because of one mistake. And what was the magical cure-all? Love. Something he'd seen could never be depended upon. All the love in the world hadn't been enough to keep his parents alive.

A crash of thunder overhead distracted him. He jumped at the sound, his thick brown fur bristling for a moment. This storm seemed to have come out of nowhere. Usually he could tell storms were approaching while they were still miles away; his sensitive animal ears detected far-away rumblings and his fur grew heavier with the approaching rain. It had been a long time since he had been surprised by one. Annoyed that he actually been startled into jumping, he growled under his breath and stalked to the balcony just as the rain let loose.

He didn't actually go outside; his fur took hours to dry from a thorough soaking. Instead he stood glaring at the rain. The dull grayness outside matched his mood. It was during weather like this that he was most tempted to throw in the towel, to curl up on the wreckage that was his bed and forget about attempting to live his so-called life.

He needed leave the West Wing. Contemplating the rain, now that it was here, did not appeal. Nor did brooding over the rose, or even breaking something. Pacing the castle's vast halls might cure him of his current irritation with himself. Animals jumped at sudden noises, and he was not fully animal. Not yet.

Out of the suite's double doors the Beast stalked. He had long ago given up trying to walk on his back paws. Walking on two legs felt, to his formerly human feet, like tiptoeing everywhere. By now, all fours was instinct, and much more comfortable besides.

The Beast entered the main part of the castle, which consisted for the most part of formerly public rooms and included the ballroom, the throne room, three dining halls of various degrees ofspaciousness, and the main parlor that contained his favorite chair by an enormous fire. All of these could be found off the grand entrance hall, which soared up four enormous stories, the entire height of the castle keep. On the open corridors overlooking this vast space were more rooms, the second floor consisting of smaller parlors and salons for royal meetings as well as work space once used by administrators of the province. All were shut and empty, as were the guest suites on the remaining levels.

It was in one of these open corridors that he first heard the voices echoing up to him from the ground level. Ordinarily he would have paid no further attention; he did not particularly care what the servants did with their time when they weren't waiting on him. However, after over nine years trapped in an empty castle with a limited number of residents, he knew the voice of every one of them, even the lowliest. His sensitive Beast ears were good for a few things. Something was…off…about this set of echoes. It didn't sound like anyone he recognized.

Curious, he peered over the balustrade between him and the view into the entrance hall. It was just one story down, so there was no mistake in what he was seeing due to distance.

His servants Lumière and Cogsworth were leading an outsider, a plump human male, into the main parlor.

For the first half-second, the Beast thought he was hallucinating. Surely such a scene as this could not be real. No human had found his or her way to the castle since the curse had been laid. It was one of the primary reasons he had given up on the wretched spell ever being broken. Now…now he was tempted to rub his eyes in disbelief, something he hadn't done in years.

"…no, _no_! You know what the Master will do if he finds him here…" Cogsworth's voice brought the Beast back from his astonished paralysis. He glared down as the trio disappeared into the parlor, his wrath beginning to build. How dare this man come uninvited into his castle! How dare his servants, who of all people should understand the need for privacy, accommodate the stranger!

He didn't remember making his way down the main staircase and across the hall, so blinding was his rage. He did recall deciding to go quietly, which slowed him from charging into the room and attacking the man at once. Other than that, it seemed he blinked and he was flinging open the doors to the parlor that the servants had so thoughtfully closed behind them.

A dead hush fell over the room. The blast of air had put out the fire in the grate, leaving the room in near-complete darkness. No matter. The Beast could hear perfectly well what was going on. The slight gasp to his left was Lumière. A rattling of china closer to the fireplace was Mrs. Potts, now a teapot. Of course she would be here; she lived to make everyone feel comfortable. If she was here, her youngest son Chip was likely in the room as well. The Beast could also hear a muffled ticking that indicated Cogsworth the mantel clock was off to the right. The sounds he chiefly focused on were the noises made by a terrified old man. The Beast could almost hear his shivers.

The man was ensconced in _his _chair, his favorite one that looked like a throne. _That _pushed his already boiling temper off the edge. "There's a stranger here," he snarled in the direction of his servants.

"Master, allow me to explain," came Lumière's tentative voice. The Beast's ears had correctly placed the candelabra to the left. "The gentleman was lost in the woods. He was cold and wet, so we—"

The Beast was in no mood to listen to any sort of reason. He roared wrathfully, and Lumière fell silent.

Cogsworth broke in with protestations of his own innocence. He was also silenced by a roar. By this point, the Beast had stalked to the chair. The old man was frantically looking around the dark room, and an unfortunate—on his part—turn of the head brought him face-to-snout with the snarling Beast. He was treated to an excellent view of sharp teeth and a pair of furious human eyes set in a predator's face. Bad as the light was in the room, the Beast could see the stranger turn pale.

"My God," the man whispered. He scrambled over the arm of the chair, trying to put it between himself and the menace.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" the Beast demanded, following easily.

"I—I was lost in the woods, and, and—" the man stuttered. His voice failed him as the Beast rose to his hind legs, looming over him.

"You're not welcome here," growled the Beast.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know…" The man put his hands out in a feeble gesture. The Beast had been about to usher the man to the front door and toss him out by his homespun shirtfront, but his eyes were caught for some reason by the man's hands. Human hands. The last time he had seen human hands had been his own, transforming before his eyes into horrible clawed monstrosities. It was all he could do not to shudder.

Hot shame raced through him. That this trespasser had seen him in his hideous state suddenly could not be tolerated.

"What are you staring at?" he snarled. The widening of the man's eyes only heightened the Beast's fury.

"N-nothing!"

"So. You've come to stare at the Beast, have you?" snarled the Beast. He stood even taller, to his full height, every gleaming tooth exposed.

The man's wavering nerve broke. He bolted for the door to the entrance hall. Catching him was a simple matter; it was accomplished in a single bound. The Beast grabbed the man's arm.

The old man screamed, though no claws had pierced his flesh. "Please!' he pleaded, trying to pull his arm from the unbreakable grasp. "I meant no harm, I swear! I only needed a place to stay!"

"I'll give you a place to stay!" Now the Beast did lift the man by his shirtfront, not to carry him to the door, but to the castle dungeon. Unlike many older castles, the dungeon was located in a tower rather than belowground. This one had been infrequently used even before the curse; now every cell stood empty.

There was no key to any of these doors, and even if there were, the Beast would have had no idea where to find it. Nor did he want to wait while a servant fetched it. They probably did not remember where the dungeon keys were, either. However, it was a simple matter to insert a claw into the lock on one of the cells and twist, lifting the catch. Onto the moldy straw on the cell floor went the shivering old man.

The Beast slammed the door and locked it again with the same twist of a claw. He heard a rattle as the man flung himself against the bars set near the door's base.

"No, please," the trespasser begged. "You don't understand! My daughter…she's alone! She won't know what happened to me! Please, please…no! Wait!" His voice faded into echoes as the Beast stalked back down the tower stairs.

The servants wisely kept out of the path between the dungeon and the West Wing. The Beast did not want to see any of them, not after what they had done. They had brought a stranger, a human stranger, into their midst. How could they? They could hardly expect the old man to break the spell. What purpose would it serve to shower him with hospitality?

The Beast growled in frustration, knocking aside a small end table as he stalked down the hall in the West Wing that led to his suite. The servants might have let the old man in, but he was now his, the Beast's, responsibility. What to do with him? Now that his rage and embarrassment were ebbing, the Beast had to admit he might have acted unjustly. The man had not asked for so very much. Just shelter from the rain.

But he could not be released. A sentence, once issued, could not be revoked. Perhaps, in a few days, the old man could be set free to wander the castle. He could not be liberated entirely, but perhaps he might grow accustomed to living in a derelict castle…

He'd mentioned a daughter. A girl left alone, without knowing where her father was. For a moment, the Beast pictured a child of perhaps five, wandering disconsolately around an empty cottage, slowly growing thinner. He forced that image away. It was the man's own foolish fault for leaving his child to fend for herself. Such a thing was no concern of the Beast.

An uncomfortable feeling in his gut attempted to tell him he was wrong. He ignored that as well and curled up on the remains of his bed. His head had begun to pound slightly at all these new problems, piled on top of all the worry and care he normally carried around with him. The rose still glowed on the table. The enchantment had not been, and never would be, lifted.

The Beast groaned and turned his eyes away from the faint pinkish light issuing from the bell jar. Not for the first time, he wished the enchantress had taken away his ability to think like a human along with his human form. Animals never had to worry. They didn't recall much of the painful past. And they never tried to untangle the ugly knot that was the future, either.

* * *

_Author's Note: Finally, this chapter is finished. I like writing from the Beast's perspective because I've written from his POV before and I have a pretty good bead on how he thinks. However, I don't really like this section of the movie. The reason? As an astute TrudiRose pointed out in her short fic "Second Chance", it was really _stupid_ for the Beast to lock Maurice in the dungeon. You'd think after almost ten years living with the consequences of the _last _time he mistreated someone who just wanted shelter, he'd have at least learned something from that experience. In TrudiRose's story, "Maurice" was actually an enchanter in disguise, a friend of the original enchantress, who had come to see if being a Beast had taught the Beast anything. Since the answer was clearly no, the enchanter made the curse permanent and left. Sort of harsh, which is why I never made the story a favorite, but the idea behind it has stuck with me. Thus, it's hard to come up with a logical explanation for why the Beast behaves as he does. Granted, the Beast in the movie isn't all that clever (I've made him a bit brighter in this version), but still. If he learned anything at all from life experience thus far, it should have taught him _be nice to strangers at the door!

_Anyway, I made it through, and I think my explanation for locking Maurice up makes some sort of sense. Let me know what you think thus far!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	6. Breakaway

**Chapter 5**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters. Those belong to Disney._

Belle was falling asleep in the saddle, kept awake only by worry for her father. Philippe continued plodding through the dark woods as if he knew where he was going. They had been on the main road for awhile, but then had taken a tiny side road nearly obscured by underbrush. The only real indication that there had once been a path was the half-rotted signpost. The words on it had long since faded, and anyway it was so dark Belle could never hope to read them. However, a wide swath of broken branches showed that someone had come this way recently.

That signpost was at least an hour behind them. Or so Belle guessed; it was hard to tell with so little moonlight filtering through the trees. Occasionally she heard distant sounds that might be animals in the woods, but they were never approached, not even by a deer or a bat.

The temperature began to drop, and kept dropping as the night went on. Belle drew her cloak tight. She began to shiver, though not uncontrollably.

Abruptly, they came into light, waking her from her drowsiness. She sat up in the saddle, only vaguely aware that Philippe had halted without her command. She stared around. They had entered a not-quite-clearing in the thick forest. Before them towered a pair of iron gates, stark even against the blotchy gray-black sky. These gates were enormous; even on Philippe Belle had to crane her neck to see their tops. At least thirty feet high, they pierced a stone wall that was equally enormous.

Belle could do nothing more than stare for a few seconds. What on earth was this? It looked like the entrance to a grand manor house, but she had never even _heard_ that there might be one in the vicinity of the village. Was it abandoned? Sometimes such things happened, if the local nobility ran low on money or built an even grander home elsewhere. However, neither the walls nor the gates appeared deteriorated from where she was sitting.

"What _is _this place?" she asked, more to herself than to her patient, exhausted horse. Well, at the very least it was a place to rest until dawn. Philippe could not go much further. Even if it turned out to be abandoned, stone walls would provide shelter from the wind.

At her words, Philippe suddenly began to rear and plunge, making noises of distress. He kept his eyes fixed on the gates.

"Philippe, please!" Belle cried. She was a good horsewoman and managed to keep her seat on the bobbing back. The horse was too tired to get his hooves more than a few inches off the ground, but someone less firm in the saddle still might have been thrown.

She reached forward to pat his neck. He was still trembling. "Steady, boy, steady," she soothed. "Easy now, it's all right." The fact that the horse had had such a reaction, with nothing but the silent gates to frighten him, told her that things were _not _all right. He was as spooked as she at the atmosphere of this place. Still, they had no choice. They needed to rest somewhere.

Belle slid to the ground. When her feet touched, suddenly the world began to tilt so that she had to clutch Philippe's saddle in order to stay upright. Either this was some new symptom of pregnancy, or she was dangerously exhausted. Both options were unwelcome, and she thrust all thought of them away. Keeping one hand on the horse, she made her way to his head to take hold of his bridle.

"Come on, boy," she urged, tugging gently. "At least we'll be warmer for a little while. It can't be that bad." This last was as much to bolster her own courage as Philippe's. To her relief, he ducked his head and walked forward. Together they made their way to the gates.

Large as the iron monstrosities were, the gate Belle selected swung open with only a little force. It creaked loud enough to wake the dead, but Belle kept up the steady pressure until it was wide enough for both herself and her horse to pass through. When she had closed the gate behind them, she turned to find Philippe wuffling at something dark on the ground.

"What is it?" Belle asked him. She bent to pick it up, grateful that the baby was not large enough to interfere with this action yet.

The cloth form in her hands was instantly familiar. It was the wide-brimmed cap her father had been wearing when he had set out. So Philippe's horse instincts had been true. Maurice had indeed come here, somehow finding his way to this strange place in the middle of nowhere. Likely he had never made it to the fair.

"Oh Papa," Belle murmured, running her fingers over the hat.

She looked up, got her first glimpse of the house—castle—and restrained a gasp. It sat hulking and gray, reaching for the sky in many delicate pointed spires. The wide stone boulevard that led to this formidable place spanned a deep chasm; in fact, the castle itself stood on a point of rock in the center of a little valley so that the only way to approach it was either from the valley floor or across this bridge before her.

Belle liked the idea of crossing it even less than she liked the idea of entering the castle itself. But both must be done, if she were to find her father. Clutching the hat in one hand, she rose and took Philippe's reigns in the other. She was shaking as badly as the horse. "Come on, Philippe."

Together they crossed the chasm. Belle had been afraid the stone would be crumbling, but to her immense relief the entire bridge was sound. They stepped back onto solid ground and into a small courtyard before the castle's main entrance. Outbuildings ringed the left and right sides, including what looked like a stable. Belle led Philippe to the door and peered inside. It was empty, though there was room for dozens, perhaps a hundred, horses.

"Hello?" Belle called out tentatively. Nothing answered, though she thought for a brief second her eyes detected movement in the darkness at the back. She peered closer, but still no one answered her. She led Philippe inside the first stall. To her surprise, the straw was fresh. Someone had been here recently.

"Here you go, Philippe," she said. She removed saddle and bridle, and by the time she was finished the horse was almost asleep. "Good boy. Get some rest," she praised, giving him one last pat. Though she did not want to leave him here by himself, with someone possibly around to disturb him, if she wanted to find Maurice and perhaps rest for herself she had little choice. She did hang her father's hat on a convenient hook outside Philippe's stall.

In the courtyard, she paused to peer up at the castle. There were no lights showing anywhere. However, if she looked closely she could see a chimney subtly releasing smoke into the frigid air.

The main doors to the castle were enormous; even larger than the front gates, if that was possible. Belle pushed tentatively at one to discover that it opened with only a minimal amount of creaking. She peered around it. "Hello?"

Her voice echoed through a cavernous hall. Belle had never seen a room so big, or so fine. The floors were made of dark marble, and the colonnaded stories and balconies above her of carefully carved stone. At the far end seemed to be a staircase, though she could make out little of it in the gloom.

Belle stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Immediately the air temperature seemed to rise several degrees, and she sighed with relief. Slowly, trying to look in every direction at once, she advanced into the hall. Little eddies of dust followed her movements.

In the center, she paused again, waiting to see if anyone would come out to meet her. If Maurice was here, taking shelter, then perhaps he had heard her enter. When nothing stirred Belle made her way towards the stairs.

"Is anyone here?" she called. Still nothing. Belle decided to conduct a thorough search of the place. Beginning with the second floor, she peered into every room, still calling out for her father. Or for anyone else who would answer.

The place was strange. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere, yet nothing she saw showed any signs of decay. Nothing was broken; there was no mold or slime. The expensive, delicate glass windows were still intact. All the doors she tried, except for those that were locked, opened easily without hindrance from rust or rotten wood. The carpets were worn in places, some window drapes had moth holes, and some of the wall paint was peeling, but that was the extent of any damage she saw. She also saw very few household objects such as candelabra, coat racks, or china. There were no clocks, and only one or two mirrors.

Eventually, she began to get the sense of some…presence. She was being watched, but whoever it was did not show themselves or answer her calls. Once, she thought she heard voices, but when she paused to listen there was only silence.

Suddenly there was a creak behind her. She spun. "Papa?"

There was no reply, but a door that had been closed before was now ajar. Flickering light spilled from behind it. Belle hurried forward and peered around the door. Sure enough, there was light in the room. It was coming from a spiraled staircase at the far end. "Hello? Is someone here?" Belle called. She thought she heard footsteps, and the light began to fade. Its source was moving away from her.

"Wait!" Belle called. She hurried up the stairs after the light, which continued to stay ahead of her as if guiding. There were a lot of stairs, and Belle began to pant. "Wait, please! I'm looking for my father, and I—" Abruptly the stairs ended as she came around a last curve. They opened into a stone tower room, lit by a three-branched candelabra set conveniently in a niche, and a flickering torch on a support pillar in the room's center. The room itself was empty, and very still.

"That's funny," Belle murmured to herself. "I was sure there was someone…" She looked around again. "Is anyone here?"

At long last, there was an answer. "Belle?" came a weak voice. Movement flickered, and for the first time Belle noticed there were doors set into the tower walls. Doors with bars.

"Papa!" Belle cried. She seized the torch from its bracket and flung herself down by one of the doors. From behind the barred grate set nearly at the floor appeared her father's beloved face. She thrust a hand between the bars, and he caught it in his, squeezing tightly.

"How did you find me?" he stuttered. Belle could feel him shivering.

"Your hands are like ice!" she exclaimed. Her walk around the castle had warmed her somewhat, but her father was as chilled as if he was the one who had been riding outside all night. As if to confirm her suspicions, he began to cough. "Oh, Papa, were you out in that dreadful storm last night? You must have caught cold, and here you are in a prison cell! We've got to get you out of there!"

"Belle, no."

"What?" she drew back in surprise.

A hand came through the bars to take hold of her shoulder. "I want you to leave this place."

She could hear the weakness in his voice, and fear for him was making her angry. "Who's done this to you?"

"There's no time to explain!" Maurice replied. "You _must _go. Now. At once. Before he finds you!"

"I won't leave you here!"

Belle would have argued further, but several things happened simultaneously in that instant. Something, something _enormous_, seized her shoulder and wrenched her around. Her torch flew from suddenly numb fingers. It managed to go dead in the process, leaving the room in semidarkness. There was a roar around her, a sound of pure anger that somehow managed to form itself into words: _"What are you doing here?"_

A higher voice, that of her father, shrieked "Run, Belle!" from somewhere behind her.

That was impossible, though whatever had grabbed her had let go. Belle found herself kneeling before Maurice's cell door with her back against it. A hulking shadow now stood between her and the staircase.

"Who's there? Who are you?" Belle asked, voice trembling.

"The Master of this castle," the roar replied, now muted to a growl. The shadow shifted, and Belle could see an outline of a huge, hairy creature, though most of it was swathed in a dark cloak. There was also a slight glitter that might have been eyes.

She gathered her courage. "I've come for my father. Please, let him out. Can't you see he's sick?"

"Then he shouldn't have trespassed here!" The roar had returned.

Terror kept Belle glued to the floor. What _was_ this thing, clearly an animal of some kind, yet speaking in a human tongue? In a way, it was worse than confronting Gaston. He might be an animal in human form, but she knew what to expect from him. This was completely outside her experience.

Maurice sneezed behind her, and Belle was roused to her purpose. "But he could die! Please, I'll do anything."

"There's nothing you can do," snarled that disconcerting voice. "He's my prisoner." The shadow began to move away, towards the stairs.

"There must be some way I can…" An idea occurred to her. It was a dreadful idea, but Belle could not bear to simply walk away and leave her father there in the cell. At least she wasn't ill going into it.

She leaned forward, and found her face in a shaft of weak moonlight from the room's single window. "Take me instead," she offered.

The shadow paused. It seemed to eye her; she saw the flash of white again. "You?" the voice asked. The growl softened to a muted rumble. "You would…take his place?"

"Belle, no!" Maurice exclaimed. "You don't know what you're doing!"

Belle glanced at him, then back to the shadow, which had come even closer. It definitely had eyes, blue ones that reminded her of a summer sky. "If I did, would you let him go?" she asked.

"Yes." The voice was almost a whisper, now. "But," it continued, "You must promise to stay here forever."

Forever? That was not something Belle had considered. A few months, perhaps. Maybe long enough that she could have her child in peace, without it being the greatest scandal the village had seen in years. As neglected as her father had been, she doubted the castle's Master would pay attention to any goings-on inside the cell, even the birth of a child. But this was no place for a baby to grow up, with a prisoner for a mother and a hulking monster in the shadows.

Belle was caught between her father and her child. She wanted neither of them to suffer. But if she did not agree, she would have to walk away from the castle and leave her father here, knowing he would soon be dead. She would also be destitute, unless she returned to the village and married Gaston. None of these things was conscionable. And if she stayed…perhaps in time she could get the Master of this place to send the baby to Maurice. The child, at least, should not have to pay for what she was about to do.

Still, Belle wanted to see her adversary before she completely made up her mind. "Come into the light," she asked.

The eyes widened, but the shadow came forward into the shaft of moonlight. As it did, Belle's frightened mind fixed on details rather than absorb the whole of what stood before her. Clawed paws, the back shaped like those of a dog, the fore like enormous padded human hands complete with thumbs. A body covered in brown fur, built like a bear. Tattered breeches covered its more sensitive parts, but from its voice there was little doubt that this creature was male. An equally tattered cloak fell from shoulders to floor. The whole body, standing straight, must have been at least seven feet tall if not more.

Suddenly Belle was staring into his face, and she could not help gasping. It was a nightmarish blending of several animals at once: short, pointed ox horns; horse ears; wolverine-like snout filled with sharp teeth, two of which jutted above the lower lip; a tangled lion's mane; and a goat's small beard. The blue eyes which she had noticed before were set incongruously into this mixture, shadowed beneath heavy brows.

For an instant, those steady eyes clouded as if in pain, but they held Belle's gaze.

It was Maurice who broke the silence. "No, Belle! I won't let you do this!"

Belle wanted to hug him. He didn't even know about her child, and yet he was willing to sacrifice himself. She couldn't let him do it. However, neither was she brave enough to look at the monster before her again. She stood, but kept her eyes on the floor.

"You have my word."

"Done!" The roar was back again. She felt, rather than saw, him move past her, heard him unlock the cell door. Her knees had given way beneath her. She put both hands to her face as if to press in the tears. It would do neither her father nor herself any good if she was crying when they parted. Forever.

Maurice was beside her then, putting an arm around her. "Belle, listen to me, it doesn't have to be this way," he said quickly. "I'm old, I've lived my life—"

Before he could continue, he was seized bodily and hauled from the room by Belle's new jailer.

"Belle!" her father cried, reaching for her.

"Wait!" Belle wailed after them. They were already gone. Belle rushed to the window—she didn't think her traitorous knees could carry her down that flight of stairs. Luckily it faced the castle's main entrance. She watched as Maurice was thrust into what looked like a closed sedan chair, which _walked _away on spindly wooden legs towards the main gates. This would have seemed much odder to her had she not been more focused on the sedan's occupant.

The tears did not begin to fall until the chair had faded from view. Then Belle put her head down on the cold windowsill and sobbed.


	7. All For the Best

**Chapter 6**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast, or any of these characters._

She said _yes_. The Beast was still partially in shock that the girl had agreed to stay in the castle in place of her father. Even after seeing his hideousness. The horrified gasp had been expected, though it pierced his heart. Her trembling assent afterwards, the Beast had not seen coming. He had thought she would flee as far and as fast as possible, leaving her father to his fate, and the Beast devoid of any hope.

Yet, she had agreed. Despite his amazement, the Beast had allowed the bargain to stand. He vaguely remembered his father offering such a trade to one of the petitioners that had come to court for redress. The man had refused, of course. No one would accept a punishment they hadn't earned.

Except this girl, it seemed. She had the courage to agree to take her father's place as a prisoner. The Beast could not understand it. There was nothing special about the man. He was old, and squat, and easily frightened. What she saw in him to merit confining herself to a musty tower dungeon for the rest of her life was unfathomable. The Beast had agreed with the old man: the girl was young and had a life still to live. Had she chosen to leave, the Beast had decided he would let her go with a warning never to return and to tell no one about the place, despite the fact that she was a trespasser as well. He would not make the same rash mistake again and have two unwelcome humans in his castle. One was far too much of a reminder of all he would soon be missing.

The Beast was still pondering the new state of affairs as he stalked back towards the tower where he had left the girl. She was very different from her father. She was certainly brave. Frightened she had been when confronted with a monster, but she had mastered her fear. She was beautiful, too, the little he had seen of her. Glossy brown hair; large, expressive eyes; and a slight glow about her pale skin. She also had an interesting scent. Granted, he hadn't spent much time around humans since his transformation, but there was something…unique…about the way she smelled. He had no idea what it meant, but it was intriguing.

Might it be possible? Could such a girl…?

"Master?" Lumière's voice broke into his thoughts.

"What?" the Beast grunted, baring his teeth. He did not like to be startled, and Lumière knew that. However, it was true that while he had been brooding, he had reached the top of the tower stairs and had been going to halt anyway.

Lumière jumped back, his candles flaring briefly, but recovered. "Since the girl is going to be with us for…" here he struggled to come up with a word that was not 'forever' and settled for "quite some time…I was thinking you might want to offer her a more comfortable room."

What a stupid idea! Of course she would stay in the dungeon, unless the Beast was trying to get her to love him. He growled wordlessly at his servant and stalked on into the tower room…where he found his pretty new captive crying bitterly.

Oh. What was he supposed to do about _this_? He hadn't seen anyone cry since his father's funeral. And he had been so wrapped up in his own grief he hadn't noticed much else. He had had no idea how _uncomfortable _it was to watch someone else's tears. Especially tears he had caused.

She looked up and saw him standing almost dumbfounded in the doorway. "You didn't even let me say goodbye," she sobbed. "I'll never see him again. And I didn't get to say goodbye." She buried her head in her hands.

The Beast felt worse than ever. How could he get her to stop crying? He ran a paw over his mane, completely at a loss. Finally, his mind dredged up Lumière's suggestion from a few moments before. _Could _he let her have one of the guest suites downstairs? He hastily thought back to their bargain. She had promised to stay here forever. But 'here' didn't necessarily mean in this dungeon. He'd been planning to do the same for her father, anyway.

"I'll show you to your room," he growled.

It worked. The girl looked up, tears still glinting on her cheeks. "My room? But I thought—"

"Do you want to stay in the dungeon? That can be arranged," the Beast demanded, gesturing at the dismal surroundings to emphasize his point. He tried hard not to show that leaving her in the tower was exactly what he had planned on doing until her tears stirred some odd emotion in him. Whatever it was, it made his insides squirm.

Sensing the question was real despite the hint of sarcasm, the girl quickly said, "No."

"Then follow me." The Beast whirled, grasping Lumière as he passed the candelabra's niche. His sharp ears heard the girl's footfalls, but he dared not look behind him. He didn't think he could bear more tears.

---

Belle reluctantly followed her new jailer down the winding flights of stairs and into the main part of the castle. She kept well back from him, barely in the circle of light from the candelabra he carried. Her footsteps marked its edge, the line between dark and light. She tried to keep her eyes low, but eventually curiosity overcame her. She had not had a chance to really examine her surroundings in her earlier wanderings.

What little she saw made her regret that curiosity. The stone walls were carved with ferocious snarling monsters that she had, until that point, been blissfully ignorant of. Above, gargoyles leered down like nightmares come to life. Indeed, the way the flickering candlelight slid over all of these figures, they seemed to shift and move. Their empty eyes followed Belle as she walked past.

The light began to dim around her. Belle realized that she had stopped walking to stare, and was now being left behind. The idea of standing in the dark, knowing those faces were snarling at her, was suddenly a terrifying one. With a gasp, she dashed back down the corridor after the retreating candlelight.

Her captor seemed not to have noticed her antics. His indifference only compounded Belle's feelings of isolation. She felt abandoned in her last extremity. When she needed comfort most, there was none to be found.

Tears began to leak silently down her cheeks. She closed her eyes to try to hold them in, and followed her captor only by the light flickering against her eyelids.

---

The silence behind the Beast was starting to make the hair on the back of his neck crawl. After her passionate outburst in the tower, the girl had said nothing else. No questions about where they were going, the rules of her captivity, what had been done with her father. He wouldn't have known she was there if he didn't periodically swivel an ear around to check for her footsteps. Most females he knew filled quiet space with chatter—Mrs. Potts, Lumière's feather duster love Babette, among others. This girl's silence was slightly unnerving.

The Beast heard what might have been a gasp from behind him. It was almost a relief; a sign of life. He turned to look back.

His heart sank. The girl was crying, again. Not lusty sobs this time, but a slow leaking of tears that seemed almost unconscious and was somehow worse than sobs. That strange emotion smote him again. A nasty, clawing feeling in his stomach that told him he had done something wrong and should probably try to fix it.

Lumière had clearly noticed the look on his Master's face. "Say something to her," the candelabra whispered. "Something comforting. It will make you both feel better, I guarantee."

Comforting? The Beast didn't think he could do comforting. Anything he said came out as a growl or a roar. An animal's voice twisted for human speech. Still, Lumière's last suggestion had been a good one. What could it hurt?

The question now became what to say. The Beast groped for the polite conversation he had overheard courtiers use with one another, and said the first thing that came to his lips: "I…hope you like it here."

Silence. The Beast glanced at Lumière, who only gestured at him. What else would cheer her up? If she had a room downstairs, she might as well have the run of the whole castle. The suite doors only had locks on the inside, for the guest's convenience.

That was it! He would try to treat her like a permanent guest. In his parents' day, there had been many minor nobles who lived here all year round but were still considered guests. Maybe if she felt more at ease she'd stop crying.

He tried again. "The castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you like. Except the West Wing." No one had been allowed there except the royal family and their servants. Besides, the rose was hidden there.

"What's in the West—"

The Beast's relief at hearing the girl speak quickly turned to annoyance. She had no _business_ asking! His word was law in this castle. He could not be questioned.

"It's forbidden!" he snapped. The girl leaped backwards, and did an odd thing: she put one hand over her stomach as if to shield it. Strange, but the Beast didn't pause to give it much thought. He growled at her and continued down the corridor.

He did catch Lumière sighing, very softly.

There was one guest suite that was kept clean. Not by any order of the Beast; he happened to know the former wardrobe mistress, Madame de la Grande Bouche, had been transformed into a wardrobe so enormous she could not leave the room. Not only would he not have to wait for the room to be dusted, but the girl would be in good hands. Or whatever Madame used these days in place of hands. The Beast remembered her to be a boisterous, cheerful woman. Her refusal to allow his often-ugly moods to bring her down had annoyed him as an adolescent, but he had a feeling his new captive might benefit from Madame's presence.

Some vague instinct from his past made him open the door for the girl. She shot him a quick, unreadable glance before stepping inside.

Remembering his resolve to treat her as a guest, the Beast said, "If you need anything, my servants will attend you. You just have to ask."

"Dinner. Invite her to dinner," Lumière hissed. Apparently just attending to the stranger wasn't enough.

Beginning to lose his temper again, the Beast snapped at the back of the girl's head, "You'll join me for dinner. That's not a request!" And slammed the door.

He fled down the hall towards the sanctuary of the West Wing. What had possessed him? He _never _did things just to make the servants happy! They were always making suggestions, but his was the final word. True, he had been annoyed with Lumière, but annoyance with the servants usually meant he did the opposite of what they wanted rather than giving in. Which must mean…

The Beast sighed and ran a paw through his mane. He wanted to see the girl again. He wanted to know if she was the one he'd been waiting for, if she was even capable of loving a monster like him.

But how could he, if he wasn't even sure the monster could love her back?

He began to pace.

---

Belle stood stock-still as the door slammed behind her. Tears continued streaming down her cheeks. Nausea swept over her, and she barely contained the urge to vomit. Using the door for support, she slowly slid to the floor. It was too much. The baby, Gaston's threats, the long sleepless night, losing her father, her hideous captor, the frightening castle, and now being ordered to dinner and told she had no choice. It was all too much. She hovered on the brink of consciousness.

Something firm, something that almost felt like wood, took her arm and lifted. Belle obediently staggered to her feet. Another wave of nausea took her, and she leaned heavily against whatever had helped her up. She was led slowly across the dark room. It occurred to her as she went that the thing she leaned against had contours very much like an upright wardrobe. But that couldn't be right; it was moving. Her brain didn't seem to be functioning properly any longer.

Her knees touched something soft that gave wonderfully beneath them. It could only be a bed, or a couch. She felt the weight of her cloak leaving her shoulders, though she didn't think her own hands had removed it. The whole world was fuzzy, blurred around the edges, and nothing was making much sense. Belle didn't have the strength to wonder anymore.

She collapsed on the bed—it _was _a bed, she could feel the coverlet and pillow beneath her—and instantly the welcome blackness of sleep closed around her.


	8. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Chapter 7**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast. Though, to be fair, anything with those words on it in my house likely belongs to me._

Belle returned to consciousness slowly. She was very comfortable; that was the first thing she noticed. In fact, it felt as though she were resting on a cloud. A warm, smooth cloud. She snuggled deeper into it. It smelled odd for a cloud: mostly like cotton, with a hint of must.

She opened her eyes, bringing things into focus. She was in a room she had never seen before. It was a very pretty room, done mostly in pale blues with accents of mauve and gold. The bed on which she lay was fit for a princess, with a velvet canopy, fine cotton sheets, and a well-stuffed mattress. Now that she thought back, she remembered collapsing onto it, but here she was neatly tucked in with the covers to her chin. As she slid out from between the sheets, she saw that she was still dressed in her blue dress and white shirt, though someone had thoughtfully removed her shoes and apron. Belle decided someone else had to have done it; she certainly hadn't been awake enough.

How long had she been asleep? Belle looked around worriedly. There were two tall windows draped in velvet to match the bed curtains. The curtains were drawn back to show that it was snowing outside, quite heavily. The sky was an ambiguous dark gray that told her nothing about what time it might be. In a snowstorm this bad, it might be noon and she would never know. A dim lamp was lit by the door so that she wasn't in total darkness.

Belle swung her legs over the edge of the bed and instinctively put a hand to her head. Her hair ribbon was still in place, but it had slid down to hang nearly between her shoulderblades. The rest of her hair was tangled, and tendrils of it hung irritatingly into her eyes.

On a bedside table sat a hairbrush. Belle seized it and began to brush out her hair, a process that always soothed her. As she did, memories began surfacing. She remembered especially her bargain to stay in the castle forever.

What had she been thinking? She could only blame exhaustion for addling her judgment. Could she really spend the rest of her life in this awful place, where carved faces leered at her every turn and a tyrannical bearlike monster lurked in the shadows? The empty eyes of the carvings, and the glittering blue ones of her captor, had disturbed her dreams several times. Gaston's lighter blue eyes had appeared as well, though at a greater distance.

Still, things were not as dire as they could be. She was _not _locked in the dungeon. If her gaoler had spoken truly, she could go wherever she liked in the castle…except one place. The West Wing. She wondered briefly what was there, but put it aside to deal with later. This place was so large, she might never _find _the West Wing, or even know she was in it if she did. This room was comfortable enough, and someone had taken care of her while she slept.

Belle retied the bow in her hair, feeling much better. Her head was clearing, and she could examine her situation much more rationally. The baby was fine as far as she could tell. She herself wasn't in any pain. Her weakness was mostly gone. She was well away from Gaston and any pressure to marry him. And it was getting easier to shove the idea of 'forever' to some back corner of her mind.

It was not so easy to banish thoughts of her father. Just bringing his face to mind as she had last seen it brought fresh tears to her eyes.

A light tap on the door startled her. "Who is it?" she called.

"Mrs. Potts, dear," a matronly woman's voice called back.

Just the sound was soothing, like stepping into a warm bath. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, Belle went to open the door.

There was no one there. Puzzled, Belle put her head further out into the corridor. Still no one was in sight. She was about to call when the voice spoke again, from somewhere around her ankles.

"I thought you might like a spot of tea."

Belle looked down—and suppressed a cry. A white china teapot on the floor had been the source of the voice. Worse, it was _hopping_, making a gentle tinkling noise whenever it hit the marble floor. It hopped onto her carpet and into the light of the lamp.

It was the strangest thing Belle had ever seen, and in the past twenty-four hours alone she had seen a great deal of strange things. The castle's master might be a terrifying mix of animals, but at least he was a living, breathing creature. This was like nothing Belle had ever heard of or even read about. The teapot was certainly a teapot; its top and foot were delicately patterned pink and purple and gold. Yet it had a face, positioned so that the spout was also the nose. It had definitely spoken. It was also still hopping towards her.

Belle backed away instinctively. "But you're a…you're a…" She bumped into an enormous wardrobe she had not noticed standing against the wall.

It, too, moved, in a way that wood could never do. "Oof! Careful, dear!" it said to her, through a face at its crown Belle had not noticed before.

Now Belle did cry out, though very softly. She backed into the middle of the room so that she could see all the…things? people?…at once. "What…who are you?" she asked.

"Mrs. Potts, housekeeper and cook," the teapot said. That confirmed it. The kindly voice definitely came from the teapot.

"Madame de la Grande Bouche, wardrobe mistress," said the wardrobe with a creaky bend that managed to suggest a bow. It gave a giggle. "Literally, of course."

Belle couldn't help a small smile. "It's nice to meet you both. I suppose. But…oh, this is impossible!" She sat on the bed and buried her head in her hands for a moment. When she removed her fingers again, there they both were, looking at her and smiling benevolently. She was not hallucinating.

Uncomfortable memories stirred. Last night, something that felt like wood had half-carried her to the bed. Belle, looking at the wardrobe, now realized what it had been. Her father had been taken away in a litter that walked by itself.

_Things _in this castle were _alive_.

"Impossible," she repeated.

For a moment, she thought the bed itself was rising up to disagree with her. When she whirled, she realized the wardrobe had draped itself across the bed beside her, and the mattress had risen into the air with the extra weight. "I know it is," the wardrobe said in reassuring tones, "But here we are."

"I told you she was pretty, Mama, didn't I?" cheeped a voice from the floor. Belle turned to find the teapot had been joined by a sugar bowl, a tiny pitcher of cream, and a teacup with a small chip out of its rim. All were decorated in the same pink-purple- gold pattern. It was the teacup that had spoken.

Belle, with motherhood looming inevitably, gulped slightly at the term "Mama." She also tried not to think about how a teapot could beget a teacup in the first place. That was simply beyond her at the moment. Wrapping her mind around living household objects and furniture was stretching enough of her credulity, though she could just manage it. She had never been so thankful for her love of reading.

While she had been pondering this, Mrs. Potts the teapot had filled the chipped teacup with steaming tea, and milk and sugar had been added. Belle had never drunk tea with sugar in it. Most people she knew made do with honey for sweetening; the few that could afford sugar did not waste it on tea. It certainly smelled inviting, however extravagant.

As she lifted the cup to her lips, the teacup asked, "Want to see me do a trick?"

"What?" said Belle, pulling back in surprise.

Taking this as a yes, the cup took a deep breath. The hot tea began to bubble, for all the world as if he were blowing into it.

"Chip!" his mother admonished.

"Oops, sorry," the little teacup said. He looked at Belle with big, innocent eyes, and Belle thought if her own child could be this sweet she might actually look forward to having him. It was a novel thought.

"It's all right," she assured Mrs. Potts and Chip with a smile. "I don't mind. Maybe you can show me another one later." She finished the tea as quickly as possible without burning her lips. Once done, she shifted her grip so the light-as-air cup could sit in her palm. He continued to stare at her.

"It was a very brave thing you did yesterday, my dear," Mrs. Potts said.

"We all think so," added the wardrobe.

Just the mention of the bargain she'd made caused Belle's eyes to start to fill. She looked away out the window at the falling snow. "I'm not brave," she said sadly. "I was foolish. I didn't really think about what I was doing. I wanted to keep my father from dying, but the way things are now, how will I ever know if I succeeded? I'll never see him again." Her voice wobbled on the last word.

The wardrobe and teapot traded glances. "Trying to save someone you love isn't foolish, dear," Mrs. Potts said. "And an unselfish deed usually has a way of coming back to us."

Belle wasn't sure if what she'd done could be considered entirely unselfish. After all, one of the deciding factors in her choice had been sparing herself the embarrassment of being whispered about in the village as well as the constant grief and humiliation that would be her lot if she married Gaston.

Mrs. Potts must have seen the uncertainty on Belle's face, because she said, "Cheer up, child. It may yet turn out all right in the end."

"I hope so," replied Belle. She wished she could believe that something good would come of all she had lived through in the past year, but she just couldn't see how.

Again, teapot and wardrobe exchanged glances. Then Mrs. Potts seemed to collect herself. "Oh, listen to us, jabbering away when there's supper to get on the table. You need to get ready, dear. Come along, Chip." She led the way out the door.

"'Bye!" the cup called to Belle as he hopped out the door in great leaping strides. Belle couldn't resist a smile and a wave in return. The little thing was so charming.

"Isn't he just adorable?" Madame sighed, echoing Belle's thoughts. "He brightens us all on our darkest days."

"Yes, I can see that," Belle agreed.

The wardrobe extended a door, which Belle took and allowed Madame to help her to her feet.

"Well now that it's just us," Madame said cheerfully. "What shall we dress you in for dinner?"

"Dinner?" Belle repeated. Despite Mrs. Potts' hurried departure, she had forgotten about it. And the order that she had no choice but to attend. A strange hot-cold feeling settled around her heart. It was the same feeling that led her to refuse Gaston's offers of marriage time after time, when logic and custom and even her own fear said she should have just given in.

"Of course, dear," the wardrobe was saying gaily. "I've got so many things in my drawers I've been just _dying _to take out!"

"That's very kind of you…" Belle began, but Madame was already extracting a pink silk confection and waving it around like a graceful banner.

"Here we are, you'll look ravishing in this one! I've been saving it for just such an occasion. How wonderful that you're so well-developed!"

"…but I'm not going to dinner," Belle finished. She chose to ignore the comment about her bosom, though it made her want to wince. She had been decently well-endowed before, but pregnancy had seen fit to improve her in that area even more.

"But you _must _go to dinner!" Madame cried, shocked. "The Master—"

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Into the room scurried…a clock. A mantel clock, that ticked and had a clearly moving pendulum inside. Belle, though starting to get used to inanimate objects being alive, backed up. Her knees hit the bed and folded, so that she sat down with a plop.

The clock tactfully ignored her reaction. It—he—bowed low. "Ahem. Dinner is served."

The wardrobe waggled her doors in a gesture very reminiscent of throwing up her hands in exasperation. "She says she's not going!"

"What?" the face on the clock's face looked thoroughly alarmed. "But, mademoiselle, you _must _attend. The Master specifically ordered—"

"I know what he ordered," Belle interrupted. "And you can tell him I have no intention of coming down. I'm not hungry."

"But—but—but—" For a moment, Belle thought the clock was going to stop ticking, so great was his distress.

"He'll be angry," whispered Madame, in a tone that suggested there could be nothing worse.

For some reason, Belle could not bring herself to care. "I've seen him angry before. I may be his prisoner, but I don't have to do what he says." She folded her arms.

Wardrobe and clock were now both clearly frightened. "What should we do?" asked Madame in a stage whisper.

The clock gulped, and seemed to square his shoulders. "See if you can reason with her," he said. "I'll…I'll go…go tell the Master." He looked terrified at the very prospect, but nevertheless nodded politely to Belle. "Mademoiselle, I _strongly_ urge you to reconsider."

He left, closing the door behind him. Despite her resolve, Belle could not help swallowing. What had she gotten herself into? Well, there was no backing out now. The Master might be a terrifying monster, but he could do no worse to her than she had already survived.


	9. Black Roses Red

**Chapter 8**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or any of the characters created by Disney. Nor do I own Beauty and the Beast the Broadway musical._

The Beast had realized his mistake not long after arriving in the West Wing. It was about three in the morning when he'd issued his order to the girl about dinner. That meant he'd have to wait almost a whole day until the appointed time.

He was too wound up to sleep at the moment, after all that had happened. The enchantress' magic mirror was a temptation, and eventually he gave in. Picking it up, he ordered, "Show me the girl."

The mirror glowed green and its surface clouded over. When it cleared, it showed a dark bedroom. Madame de la Grande Bouche was tucking a pale, slight figure into a four-poster bed. For a moment, the Beast was alarmed, thinking Madame was going to undress the girl, but Madame only removed her dirty, torn apron. The girl's clothes were not in much better shape, the Beast noticed. The path to the castle must be more overgrown than he'd imagined.

Madame moved out of sight, and the slight bloom of a lamp illuminated the girl's features. She looked so fragile, lying there alone. The fresh tear tracks gleaming on her cheeks made the Beast's insides squirm again.

He put the mirror down and the scene faded. The Beast ran a paw over his mane. This girl was a puzzle. When the old man had mentioned a daughter, he'd pictured a child. Then she'd arrived and had turned out to be a woman grown. And a pretty one, as well. What was a lovely girl her age doing unmarried and still living with her father? He'd heard somewhere that peasants tended to marry early. Courtiers did, too, though their marriages were usually arranged. He knew he'd probably be married by now, were he still human. Yet here was this gorgeous girl, who had to be at least twenty years of age if not more. Almost old enough be considered a spinster.

Money might be a factor. Neither the girl nor her father were particularly well-dressed. If she didn't have a dowry, then marriage to a suitable man could be difficult. He'd heard dowry suits before in his father's court. His mother had had trouble explaining difficulties with money to her young son, who had never wanted for luxury in his life.

Yet neither girl nor old man appeared starved, as peasants had sometimes when they came to court. Surely if they had enough to eat they could afford a small dowry. How much did a dowry cost, anyway?

He'd never thought about any of this before. It was all quite baffling.

He realized he'd curled up on his bed without thinking. Still turning things over in his mind, he fell into a restless sleep.

---

_As he had so often in the last decade, he dreamed of that fateful Christmas, the night he'd learned an entirely new definition of 'hideous.' Yet in this dream, instead of an old crone, the enchantress looked like his new captive when she was led into the hall by the guards. She carried a bundle in her arms. She did not ask for shelter from the cold; instead she begged for protection from her husband, who had found out he was not the father of her child and now wanted to kill them both._

_The girl was beautiful, but so the prince's mother had been. Neither had been faithful to their husbands. Such faithlessness did not deserve protection. The prince—a remote part of him realized that he was human, but a fully-grown man rather than a boy of fourteen—turned the girl and her child from the castle._

_The familiar warning about allowing appearances to deceive him was issued. This time the prince, knowing what was about to happen, wanted to hesitate, but it was suddenly as if his body and tongue were too ingrained with the pattern to stop. In a cold voice, he ordered woman and babe thrown outside to her waiting husband. It occurred to him as he spoke that he sounded just like his father denouncing his mother before the court._

_The girl and her bundle shimmered and vanished, replaced by the enchantress. Instead of her usual words about finding him without love, she said, "I once warned you about allowing appearances to deceive you. Even after all these years, you still see what circumstances first present, and do not seek to know any deeper. Take care. This is your last chance."_

_She brought her wand down towards him._

---

The Beast lunged upward with a gasp. It took a few moments for him to realize he was in his room in the West Wing, not in the main receiving chamber downstairs. He glanced downward, looking himself over. He had never been so glad to see his paws and tail. The room around him was as dark and shattered as ever. The enchantress was nowhere to be seen.

What had that dream been about? In all his years as a Beast, the nightmare of his final fifteen minutes of humanity had never altered. It was as if his own past had intertwined with the intrusion of the girl into his castle to create something entirely new and no less nightmarish. Had it just been a dream born of all the emotions of the past twenty-four hours, or something more?

He decided to try to put it from his mind. Shaking out his fur as if doing so would fling the dream away, he glanced at the balcony. The snow that had begun sometime last night looked as if it were settling in for the day. He was indifferent to snow, unless he went outside. Then the powdery white stuff had a tendency to get caught in his fur, melt, and send trickles of icy cold piercing through him.

He made his way downstairs to the kitchens. As he passed the entrance to the receiving chamber, he paused, thought briefly about going inside to check it, and dismissed the idea with a shudder. Both he and the servants tended to avoid that room if they could help it; for most of them, the transformation from human to their current state had taken place there.

The kitchens were already in full swing preparing for dinner that night. When queried, Mrs. Potts admitted that the newcomer was still asleep and showed no signs of waking.

"She's exhausted, poor thing," the teapot said. "It's best to leave her alone, let her get her rest. You'll see her tonight. Go on, now, sir," she added when her Master didn't move. "We've enough to do without you getting in the way!"

The Beast left, feeling miffed but not really angry. He _did _take up a great deal of room in the kitchen, and there was always the risk of stepping on someone. But for people like Madame de la Grande Bouche, the wardrobe, and Monsieur Joli, the head-chef-turned-stove, he was the largest creature in the castle by far, and the only one mobile enough to be a danger.

He spent the rest of the day trying to occupy himself. Nothing really suited his mood. How had he entertained himself as a human? He couldn't remember. Before his father's death he'd always had lessons or some sort of duty, with rarely any time to play. His room had been filled with toys, but those had somehow vanished in the move from his old chambers to the West Wing. Afterward, he hadn't been able to bring himself to care about much of anything. The four years of his life between his father's death and the curse, and most of the years afterwards as well, were a foggy blur punctuated by clear memories of his bouts of temper and despair.

In the end, he simply drifted around the castle until his stomach told him it was time to eat. Lumière met him in the main hall and led him to the smallest of the formal dining rooms. The room gleamed, and appeared as gracious as the servants could make it despite the gargoyle theme that repeated itself endlessly throughout the castle.

Cogsworth was directing the placement of the last few forks and spoons. He paused in his duties to bow in a distracted way when his Master entered. Mrs. Potts was perched on the mantelpiece out of the way, where she would supervise the food as it was brought in. Lumière hopped up to join her.

"How goes it?" he asked Mrs. Potts.

"Quite well," she beamed.

"Circumstances are satisfactory," Cogsworth proclaimed, as if the question had been directed at him. "All that remains is to announce the meal to our…other diner. Which _I _will do," he added as Lumière made to hop towards the door. "It's my duty as head of the household. It's _your _duty to stay here and make sure things go smoothly in my absence." Out the door he went.

"It's _your_ duty to stay here and kick your heels…" mimicked Lumière once the clock was out of earshot. "Hmph. Well, I can at least make certain the fire is well built-up. How dreadful if the girl were to catch a sniffle because our fearless head of the household skimped on firewood."

"It is snowing quite hard," Mrs. Potts said diplomatically. The Beast chose not to comment; he was too used to the rivalry between his head of the household and _maitre d'hôtel_. Lumière stoked up the fire, and the three of them settled down to wait.

Eventually, the Beast lost patience and began to pace. "What's taking so long?" he grumbled. "I told her to come down. Why isn't she here yet?"

"Try to be patient, sir," soothed Mrs. Potts. "The girl needs time to get used to…to the way things are here. She seemed very unsure when I took some tea up to her. However," she added brightly, "she's a very sweet girl and I think she'll settle in quickly. Chip adores her already."

The Beast wasn't sure why Chip's opinion mattered, but if Mrs. Potts approved of their new resident it was a hopeful sign.

"Master," interjected Lumière eagerly, apparently unable to hold this comment in any longer, "Have you thought that perhaps this girl could be the one to break the spell?"

"Of course I have!" the Beast snapped. "I'm not a fool." The question had been bothering him frequently since she'd arrived.

"Good! So, you fall in love with her," the candelabra lit one of the candles that served him for hands, "she falls in love with you," he lit the other, "and poof!" He blew them both out. "The spell is broken! We'll be human again by midnight!"

Midnight? The idea was laughable.

Luckily, Mrs. Potts agreed. "It's not that easy, Lumière. These things take time."

"It's no use anyway," the Beast growled.

"Why?" Lumière asked. "Love can happen in the blink of an eye! You look at her, and in just a moment you'll know!"

"How can love take time and yet you know in an instant?" the Beast demanded. "You don't make any sense, Lumière. Besides, look at me!" He indicated his fur, horns and tail in one expressive gesture.

The two servants exchanged helpless glances. Finally, Mrs. Potts said, "Then you must help her to see past all that."

"I don't know how," grumbled the Beast. He didn't even know if there was any more to him than fangs and claws, other than the fact that he could think and talk.

"Well, you can start by making yourself more presentable," Mrs. Potts declared firmly. She hopped from the mantel to the dining table. "Straighten up!" she ordered. "Try to act like a gentleman!"

Her tone was so commanding that the Beast automatically did as she said. Straightening up was difficult, as he was built to walk on all fours. Acting like a gentleman would take work. He barely remembered his royal lessons in proper behavior. Something about keeping your elbows in…

"Ah, yes!" agreed Lumière, leaping to join Mrs. Potts. "When she comes in, give her a dashing, debonair smile. Come, show me the smile."

The Beast tried to pull his face into a semblance of a smile, but his attempt made the two servants wince. He could only assume too many teeth were exposed. How could he smile without showing teeth?

"But don't frighten the poor girl," Mrs. Potts put in, as if she had read his mind. "She's nervous enough already."

"Impress her with your rapier wit," added Lumière. The Beast wasn't sure what that meant, but he nodded and tried to take it to heart. Maybe this _could _work.

"But be gentle," advised Mrs. Potts.

"Shower her with compliments."

"But be sincere."

"And above all…"

The Beast, tired of this litany, covered his ears. He couldn't shut them out entirely, especially when they said in unison, "You must control your temper!"

He also didn't miss the creak of the door handle. All three of the room's occupants turned towards it.

"There she is!" Lumière's whisper was almost prayerful.

However, it was only Cogsworth who poked his head around the door. He looked nervous, a sure sign of bad news.

"Well? Where is she?" snapped the Beast.

"Who?" asked Cogsworth. Then he laughed nervously, as if the previous statement had been one of his usual poor jokes. "Oh. The girl. Actually, she's in the process of…well…circumstances being what they are…she's not coming..."

It took barely a second for this to register with the Beast, at least partially. "WHAT?"

She wasn't _coming_? She'd actually had the_ nerve_ to defy a direct order? Where did she get the right? He'd told her to come to dinner. She _had _to come.

He was up the stairs before he'd consciously given his legs the order to move. It seemed he blinked again and he was at the door to the suite he'd given the girl and one massive paw was crashing against the wood.

"I thought I told you to come down to dinner!"

"I'm not hungry," came her calm, cold voice back. She didn't even bother to open the door.

"You're hungry if I say you're hungry!" he roared.

"Don't be ridiculous." He actually heard a tremor of a laugh in her otherwise uninflected voice. "It doesn't work like that. You can't just go around ordering people to be hungry or not. Besides, it's rude."

The thought of her laughing at him made him even angrier. "Rude, is it? You come out, or I'll break down the door and—"

"Master," Lumière said, very quietly. The Beast hadn't even heard him approach. "I could be wrong, but that may not be the best way to win the girl's affections."

"Remember, be a gentleman," Mrs. Potts added.

"But _she's _the one who's being difficult!"

"Try again. Gently." Mrs. Potts insisted.

Gentling his voice as much as possible, the Beast growled, "Will you come down to dinner?" Even to himself, he sounded sulky.

"No, thank you just the same." The answer was coolly delivered, leaving no room for argument. The Beast turned back to his servants with a helpless gesture.

"Suave, genteel," suggested Cogsworth. It took the Beast a few moments to remember the meaning of those words.

Summoning up as much royal dignity as he could manage, he said, "It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner." He was still unable to keep the temper from his voice.

"Say please," urged Cogsworth.

"Please," the Beast repeated dutifully.

"No, thank you." As icy as before. Her voice was dull; no passion, no fear. The tone almost sounded practiced.

Fury washed over him. "You can't stay in there forever!"

There was iron control in her voice now. "You can't make me come out. I said no, and I meant it."

"Fine. Then you'll starve." The Beast whirled on his servants, pitching his voice loud enough to carry through the door to the room's stubborn occupant. "If she doesn't eat with me, then she doesn't eat at all." Then he whirled around and stalked down the corridor towards the West Wing, muttering the entire time.

"I ask nicely, but she refuses." He stormed into his room, knocking aside a chair. It crashed against the wall with a splinter of breaking wood. "What does she want me to do, beg? Well, she can forget it!"

He seized the mirror again and demanded, "Show me the girl."

The mirror obediently displayed the inside of the girl's rooms. She was perched on the bed, talking to Madame. Her arms were folded resolutely.

"The Master's really not so bad once you get to know him," Madame was saying coaxingly. "Why don't you give him a chance?"

"A chance?" snorted the girl. "A chance to do what? Shout at me again? That's all he's ever done."

"He does have a bit of a temper…"

"And why would I want to get to know him? So I can appear and disappear at his pleasure? I get no say in the matter. I'm sick to _death _of having my choices taken away from me!" The girl flung herself down on her pillows and began to cry. Madame tried to soothe her, but to no avail. "I'll starve before I eat because someone ordered me to," the girl declared. "And I don't want to have anything to do with _him,_ either."

It took a great deal of effort for the Beast to place the mirror back on the table next to the rose rather than drop it. It went dark as he set it aside.

She wanted…a choice? The Beast was a little confused. Hadn't he given her license to come and go as she pleased in the castle? She had agreed to stay here in the first place; in fact, she had suggested it. That _had _been her choice.

As for dinner…no, it was true, he hadn't given her a choice. Now that his temper was cooling a little, he could see that she could possibly resent being ordered about. She might be a peasant, but she wasn't a servant. And she had no idea of his former status. He had taken it for granted that she would do what he said, based on an idea of his rank that, for her, didn't exist. Or because she feared him, which she clearly did not. The fact that everyone else in his life obeyed his orders didn't seem like much of an excuse.

Mistakes. That's all he seemed capable of making. Especially around this girl, who now wanted nothing to do with him.

"It's hopeless," he sighed, running a paw through his mane. In so doing, his eye was caught by the glowing rose.

Five months, thirteen days.

_

* * *

Author's Note: A longer chapter than usual, but it would have been too short if I'd divided it out. I just want to say I'm really proud of the dream early in this chapter—a weird sort of foreshadowing-slash-flashback (but dreams are like that). And that I borrowed a little dialogue from the Beauty and the Beast musical because I love that exchange about dinner a lot. Digestive systems just don't respond to human reason, as almost anyone who is female and confronted with chocolate will tell you._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	10. Dream On

**Chapter 9**

_Disclaimer: All out of witty disclaimers today, so I'll just have to settle for saying that I don't own Beauty and the Beast._

Though Madame pleaded for the rest of the evening after Belle's argument with the Master, the young woman remained firm. She would not agree to have dinner as per orders. However, as the night wore on, Belle did find her resolve weakening as her hunger grew. She knew she should be keeping her strength up because of the baby.

At last, she curled up on the bed and pretended to sleep. She waited until she heard a faint humming snore from the corner, then got up and slipped to the door. For a moment she was afraid the light from the corridor would wake Madame, but the wardrobe did not stir when Belle put her head out. The corridor was deserted; snow fell peacefully against the frosted glass of the enormous windows. Moonlight, made even brighter by the snow, streaked the dark carpets. There was plenty to see by and make certain she didn't trip over anything—or anyone.

Belle didn't really remember the route to the main hall, but it wasn't too hard to find: eventually all the corridors led back to that vast entrance chamber. Belle discovered, looking over the balustrade, that she was on the second floor. From there, it was easy to make her way down.

She paused to listen. Nothing seemed to be stirring. But as she held still, her ears thought they detected a slight rattling sound. She followed it through a set of double doors and into a small, empty, dining parlor. It looked recently scrubbed, and Belle wondered with a slight stab of guilt if this was where dinner was supposed to have taken place. The servants seemed to have gone to a lot of trouble.

The rattling was definitely louder in here, however. It sounded like pots and pans crashing together, and was coming from another set of doors at the far end of the room. This boded well for finding the kitchens, Belle's original goal, but it seemed as if someone was still awake. She had intended to sneak into a pantry and hide something away so that no one would get in trouble for feeding her.

It couldn't hurt to check. As she approached the door, she began to detect voices in amongst the clanging.

"—stubborn," said a male voice irritably. It sounded very much like the stuffy mantel clock who had come to announce dinner. "After all, he did say please."

A new voice, one Belle recognized as Mrs. Potts' warm tones, said, "But if the Master doesn't learn to control that temper, he'll never—"

Belle had started forward at the sound of the teapot's voice, hoping for a sympathetic ear. However, as she entered the kitchen, both clock and teapot whirled as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn't.

The clock recovered first, though in Belle's opinion he overcompensated. "Splendid to see you walking about, mademoiselle!" he exclaimed heartily. He waddled forward and bowed low. Belle politely knelt in order to be more on his level. "Do forgive me, I never properly introduced myself. I am Cogsworth, head of the household."

"It's—" Belle started, but another figure pushed the clock out of the way and took her hand instead.

Cogsworth sighed. "This is Lumière. Our _maitre d'._"

"_Enchanté, chérie,_" said Lumière. He was a familiar-looking candelabra with three branches; Belle recognized him from her climb to the tower dungeon. He began to kiss her hand effusively. The gesture made Belle uncomfortable; she hated men tonguing her hand when they first met, as if her looks qualified her for special treatment. Also, the two branches which served him for hands were quite warm. She drew her hand away as politely as she could.

"It's nice to meet both of you," she said. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything."

"Not at all, dear, we were just cleaning up, putting the teacups to bed, you know," said Mrs. Potts. "Let me also introduce you to Monsieur Joli, our masterful head chef."

"So you're the one causing all the fuss," said the enormous stove in the corner. Belle jumped, and steadied herself. She had thought she was getting used to things speaking that shouldn't be able to, but apparently she still had a long way to go.

"It's a pleasure, monsieur," she said, sweeping a curtsy. "I do hope I haven't caused you any undue trouble."

"It was nothing I can't make again, on the right occasion," answered the stove modestly.

"Goodness, child, where did you learn such a splendid curtsy?" Mrs. Potts asked approvingly.

"My mother taught me," Belle admitted. "She was from a very minor noble family, but her older brother gambled away all their money. She fell in love with my father, so they eloped and she never looked back. At least that's the story she always told me. She taught me all sorts of things commoner girls aren't supposed to know—reading, writing, drawing, dancing. One of those things was how to curtsy."

"Where is this paragon now?" asked Lumière.

"She died of ague six years ago," Belle admitted sadly.

"_Je suis désolé_," Lumière said. "I did not mean to pry."

"No, no," Belle waved her hand. "You couldn't help but ask. I still get very sad, but I can talk about it."

"I'm sure she's very proud of you," said Mrs. Potts.

Belle winced. "I don't know what she'd say if she could see me now."

Mrs. Potts tilted an eyebrow on her china face, as if trying to work out what had caused such a bitter statement. Belle did not feel compelled to elaborate.

"So, how may we serve you this evening?" asked Lumière.

"I…well…" Belle was reluctant to bring up her original purpose in leaving her room. These people-objects were all pleasant, but she didn't want to ask them to deliberately disobey their Master. It certainly wouldn't be right to try to divide their loyalties like that. "I couldn't sleep…and decided to explore," she fibbed.

"And you happened to find your way to the kitchens?" asked Cogsworth meaningfully.

"Cogsworth! What an ungracious thing to say to the lady!" Lumière scolded.

Belle flushed. "I heard noises…I didn't think anyone else was awake but me."

"We had a lot to do today, what with one thing and another," Mrs. Potts tactfully put in. "And the head staff is usually up later than the rest."

"I'll go if I'm interrupting anything," Belle offered.

"Oh, no, of course not. Come along to the parlor, dear, and I'll fix you a cup of tea. We can get to know one another better."

"May I remind you, Mrs. Potts, that we are under a strict injunction—" began Cogsworth.

"Nonsense, Cogsworth," Lumière said, his eyes beginning to gleam. "The Master merely said the girl wasn't to _eat _without him. He said nothing about drink"

"But—but—" stammered Cogsworth.

Mrs. Potts ignored this. "Go on, child. Lumière, show her the way, will you? And get a fire going, if you don't mind."

"It will be my pleasure," Lumière said with a low bow. "Right this way, mademoiselle."

As she turned to follow the candelabra into the dining room, the edge of Belle's vision caught Mrs. Potts watching her through slightly narrowed eyes. However, there was nothing she could say as her escort was already hopping ahead. She followed him silently through the dining room, across the main hall, and into another room. This one was roughly similar in size to the dining hall. Belle perched on one of the well-stuffed chaises while Lumière started a fire in the enormous fireplace. As light filled the room, she could examine it better. Several other chairs and couches were placed around the room, commanded by one tall upholstered chair in the center. The floor was covered in a luxurious Persian carpet, and there were peaceful landscape paintings on the dark-paneled walls. In all, she decided, it felt much more…lived-in…than most of the rest of the castle.

"This is a lovely room," she commented.

"It is _très _comfortable, no?" he agreed. "It is one of the few in which the Master will spend any length of time."

Belle looked nervously at the door. "He's not coming here, is he?"

"No, no, _chérie_," Lumière soothed. "I believe he is already asleep, and no one will wake him unless the matter is urgent. Unless you wish to see him?" He looked hopeful.

"No, thank you," Belle said in the calmest voice she could manage.

At that moment, Mrs. Potts arrived along with Cogsworth and the tea cart. "Here we are, child," the teapot said. The teacup into which the tea was poured was not Chip; this one was silent as Belle sipped from it. She sighed and sank back onto the chaise.

"May I ask you a personal question, dear?"

"Of course," Belle answered dreamily, thinking that she could sit like this for quite some time.

"How far along are you?"

"Three mon…far along…what?" Belle sat bolt upright. The words had come out without her permission; she had been caught off guard, and after all the weeks of watching her tongue she had for some reason begun an honest answer. She opened her mouth to make some excuse, and then saw the look on Mrs. Potts' face. The matronly teapot knew, and there was no use denying it.

"Three months," she admitted miserably, putting her hands over her face. She closed her eyes and waited for the harsh words, or at least a gasp of horror.

Neither came. Belle peeked between her fingers. Mrs. Potts' expression was a mix of sympathy and sadness. Lumière looked utterly shocked, and Cogsworth was peering between them in puzzlement.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Mrs. Potts sighed. "I leave him in your hands, Lumière. I'll be back in a minute or two." She started out the room on the cart.

"Where are you going?" Cogsworth wanted to know.

"Back to the kitchens to wake them all and get them to put a good supper together."

"_What_? You know perfectly well—"

"I won't have someone who's eating for two starving in this castle. Not while I'm housekeeper."

"Wait…" Belle put in with some surprise. "You don't have to…I never asked…" In fact, she was amazed. Since she'd discovered it herself, she hadn't told anyone her secret. She had expected nothing but disgust and scorn from anyone who found out, except for her father. Now from this near-total stranger she was receiving not only kindness, but even greater care.

"I know you didn't, dearie. But you've got to keep your strength up while you're expecting. It's very important." She rolled out towards the kitchen.

"All right, Lumière, I demand to know what this is all about," Cogsworth said.

Lumière sent Belle a long-suffering look that almost made her giggle. "I had forgotten just how much of a monk you are. Has no one explained to you about the birds and the bees?"

"What has that got to do with—"

This time Lumière rolled his eyes. "Did your _maman _never take you aside one day and explain how _les petites filles et garçons _are made?"

"No, of course not, my father did, but why—" Cogsworth stopped. He started at Belle with his mouth open. For a second, she was fairly sure his pendulum had missed a swing. If his face had been made of skin, it would have been ashy pale. "Oh, dear," he said distinctly. Then he collapsed onto the carpet.

"Hmph," grumbled Lumière. "Typical. No, you don't have to get up, mademoiselle."

Belle got up anyway and carried Cogsworth to a spot on the chaise beside her. He was surprisingly heavy for an object of his size. She propped his head up with the corner of a pillow.

"He will be all right, won't he?" she asked anxiously. This was more the sort of reaction she had been expecting, though not to such an extreme.

"Of course, of course," Lumière reassured her. "He just has to get used to the idea."

Mrs. Potts arrived again on her cart. "Dinner won't be long," she announced. She caught sight of Cogsworth. "Oh, dear. I was afraid of this. Here, I brought a towel soaked in nice cool water. Put it on his head, child."

Belle did so, marveling that Mrs. Potts seemed to take everything in stride. Even Lumière didn't seem particularly upset by the news that she was going to have a baby in six months or so.

Once they had Cogsworth situated and Belle was gently wiping down his face with the cool cloth, the questions started. Belle had been dreading them, but she felt she owed these two some truth after they had been so thoughtful.

"You're not married, are you, dear?" asked Mrs. Potts first, very gently.

Belle looked away. "No."

"Promised, then?"

"No."

"Widowed?"

"No."

"Do you…ah, have a sweetheart waiting back home?" asked Lumière, just as gently.

"No."

"Who fathered your child, then?" This blunt question earned Lumière a stern look from Mrs. Potts.

"Someone I'd prefer never to see again," Belle said to her knees.

"Forgive us, dear, but we're a little confused. Did you two have an argument?"

"In a way." Belle sighed, and drew herself up into a small ball, hugging her knees. "I never wanted him near me in the first place. And then one night he came while my father was away—"

_The knock on the door was polite._

_ "Hello, Belle."_

_ "Good evening, Gaston. What brings you here?"_

_ "I came to see you, Belle. Why else?" He handed her a bouquet of flowers._

_ "Oh. Thank you very much." She had already avoided being seen too much in Gaston's company, but his attentions were slightly flattering. She knew she didn't want to end up with someone like him, though. She'd read about his kind before: the sort who just saw her as another trophy for his friends to admire. Still, he had made the trip to see her. It would be rude not to offer a return favor. "Will you come in and have something to drink?"_

_ It was not long before she was regretting those words._

"I'm so sorry, child. No one should have to go through something like this."

"I wish there were something we could do, _chérie_."

Belle came out of her memory slowly. "There's nothing anyone can do. I just have to make do." She realized there were tears coursing slowly down her cheeks. "It's actually better here, in a way. At least now I don't have to worry about village gossip. Or being forced to marry the child's father. I couldn't have kept it a secret much longer."

She looked around. Mrs. Potts, Lumière and even a slightly bleary Cogsworth were gathered at her sides as if protecting her.

"Some supper will make you feel better," Mrs. Potts finally said.

"Yes, indeed! We must make this a spectacular feast for our two guests!" Lumière exclaimed. He hopped to the floor. "Come along, Cogsworth! We shall teach this new little one about fine cooking! He shall be a gourmet before he even arrives!"

"Wait for me!" Cogsworth scuttled after him. "And do _try _to keep it down, Lumière. No fireworks. Or popping the champagne bottles. The Master will have our necks if he wakes up…"

"How were you going to tell the Master?" asked Mrs. Potts when the two had vanished.

"What?" asked Belle, still trying to keep her mind from unpleasant memories. "Oh. Him. I hadn't really thought about it. And I wasn't sure he'd care, either way."

"You should tell him, rather than have him find out," Mrs. Potts advised.

"I had hoped to…avoid him for awhile," Belle said uncomfortably.

"I understand. But it might be important that he hear it from you."

"Why?" asked Belle, but Mrs. Potts seemed suddenly to have become deaf.

"Come on, dear, dinner should be ready for you."

Belle followed her on the cart, still pondering with amazement that she had fallen in possibly the one place on earth where its inhabitants seemed not to judge her. Or at least be willing to put their judgments aside. For the first time in quite awhile, she felt a small flare of hope.

* * *

_Author's Note: This is my first major deviation from the movie. I've sometimes wondered why Belle goes down to ask for food when she's usually so considerate towards the servants. It's hard to believe she missed the injunction about "If she doesn't eat with me…" Unless she feels like the Beast deserves to be disobeyed since he was such a jerk to her. And nobody except Cogsworth even seems to consider what might happen if the Beast were to walk in on "Be Our Guest." (Another fanfic, anyone?) Man, that would be a scene. In this case, I think the servants are much more justified in feeding her despite the fact that she didn't ask for it._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	11. Be Our Guest

**Chapter 10**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or any of the characters created by Disney. Though the concept is a fairy tale and therefore public domain._

Belle hadn't realized how hungry she was until the first tray of food was uncovered. She hadn't eaten in more than a day, except for a few odd cups of tea here and there.

The food was also delicious. Once the edge had worn off her hunger and she could actually pay attention to what she was eating, she marveled at how flavorful it all was. Even dishes that she recognized were many, many times better than she had ever had them. _She _had certainly never been able to cook like this in their little cottage kitchen. Her mother, who like her also had to learn cooking on the fly, had never had much time to experiment. She had fixed what she had known would turn out well and feed her family. This feast was the work of many people who had spent their whole lives doing nothing but cooking and baking.

Mrs. Potts, Lumière, and Cogsworth beamed at Belle's effusive praise. The staff even put on a small show for her while she ate, though to silence Cogsworth's scruples there was nothing particularly loud. Lumière and some of the other candlesticks sang while the featherduster maids and plate servers danced. It degenerated into a bit of a talent show when Cogsworth was persuaded to stand up and declaim a poem. After that, everyone wanted a turn to show off something small for the newcomer. Even Belle herself participated, once she was finished eating. She recited the first chapter of _Arthur and Guinevere _for everyone, or at least as much as she could remember.

"I had forgotten how good that story is," Lumière remarked to her once she was finished and the impromptu party was breaking up. Mrs. Potts had bustled off to the kitchen to see the teacups back to bed.

"You know it?" Belle asked, delighted.

"I haven't heard that particular version," the candelabra admitted. "There are many, many tales of _le roi d'hier et de demain._"

"Yes, of course. That one happens to be my favorite." She thought wistfully of the copy left open on the little table in the cottage.

"I can see that," agreed Lumière. "And you tell it very well, with much feeling. Perhaps some other evening you will favor us with more?"

"If I can remember that much. I hadn't finished rereading it when I…left my home."

"It will come back to you. Or perhaps…you might find it in our library?"

"You have a library?" Immediately Belle's whole world was brighter. If she could spend her days reading, then living in the castle and even weathering her pregnancy might not be so bleak. She pictured a small, cozy room lined with handsomely bound books. Certainly enough to keep her busy for at least six months.

"Yes, of course!" Cogsworth had heard the question and come over from directing spoons back to the kitchen. "We have a very extensive library. If you are looking for a book, I feel confident in saying you are certain to find it. Except, of course, for anything recently published," he added scrupulously.

"How recently?" Belle asked, as if absentminded. In fact, she had been rather intrigued by Cogswoth's statement.

"In the last decade so," Cogsworth answered. Belle pretended not to notice the elbow Lumière thrust into the clock's side. But her brain had started to wake up, as if the shock of the last forty-eight hours was seeping away at last and a few things were coming together.

The castle hadn't always been this way. Ten years ago, it had been connected to the outside world. Hadn't she spent half her life reading about ogres, djinns, unicorns, magic spells, and other such impossibilities? Though she had to admit she had never read about these _particular _impossibilities—living objects, a monster made up of several different animals—she knew enough to recognize enchantment when she saw it. She hadn't thought she would see such things herself, but who did except in their wildest imaginations?

She stored this revelation away for pondering later. "I'd like to see the library." She stifled a yawn. "But maybe tomorrow?"

"Yes, it is quite late," Cogsworth agreed. He yawned himself. "Or quite early, I should say."

"Very well. We shall say _bon nuit, _mademoiselle." Lumière bowed to her.

"Good night. And thank you. Thank you all…for everything." By this she attempted to encompass their understanding, their acceptance of her condition, and their unasked-for kindness to her.

"Think nothing of it." Lumière waved his candle-arms in a gesture of negation. "We wish you pleasant dreams."

Still smiling, Belle went upstairs. She had a bit of trouble remembering which room was hers, but one of the feather dusters pointed her in the right direction. Now that the castle staff were getting used to her and she to them, it seemed they were not making an effort to hide themselves from view.

"Goodness, dear, where have you _been_?" Madame demanded when Belle came in and closed the door. "I woke up and found you gone! And I can't come looking for you, remember."

"I'm sorry, Madame," Belle said contritely. "I should have woken you when I went out."

"Yes, indeed," huffed Madame, but she seemed to think Belle was properly repentant, so she let the matter drop. She even assisted Belle out of her old clothing and into a silky nightdress. Belle clambered into bed, marveling again at how soft and comfortable it was. They bade one anther good night, and Madame extinguished the lamp.

For the first time in months Belle's sleep was undisturbed. A pair of shadowed blue eyes still haunted the edges of her dreams, but she was able to ignore them.

The Beast woke up irritable, and not only from the residue of his misery the night before. He had also been tormented by his usual nightmare. It had been the same as always, not the strangely twisted version he'd seen on the girl's first night, but it had visited several times.

Mrs. Potts also seemed subdued when she brought in the breakfast cart. She did not chatter about the weather, or the menu for the day, or any other inconsequential things as she usually did. In fact, she didn't say anything to him except "good morning." The Beast wondered if she was still disappointed with him about his treatment of their guest, but he didn't ask.

"Tell me at once if the girl decides she's ready to eat with me," he informed Mrs. Potts before the cart left.

"Of course, sir," she answered. Something in her tone told the Beast not to expect to see the girl anytime soon.

That left what to do. Like the day before, none of his usual pursuits appealed. Eventually, he decided he would go out into the gardens. It wasn't snowing any longer, though the white powder was piled at least a foot deep in places. The Beast decided it would be worth wading through them and getting the snow out of his fur afterwards if he could escape from everything going on inside the castle, if only for a few minutes.

He went out one of the side doors into the castle valley, making certain at least some of the servants saw him go so they could fetch him. It was usually a habit to do so, carefully cultivated by his parents from sheltered childhood, but on this particular day he wanted to be easily found. The girl might change her mind at any moment.

Pushing his way through the snow _did _take his mind off things, at least temporarily. When he was trying to keep from being bogged down with snow clinging to his fur, he was thinking about only that. Whenever he stopped to rest, he started to get angry and frustrated all over again.

At last, he paused on a marble bench set on the side of an ornamental pond. He didn't need to catch his breath; he was strong, and knew from past experience he could run an entire circuit of the extensive castle grounds without winding himself too much. The bench seemed like a natural place to stop, however.

He glanced at his pawprints and realized he'd been going in a circle around the pond. He sighed. It seemed his usual habits had come to find him despite his efforts to escape.

What was he supposed to do about this girl? Yes, he'd already admitted she had a right to be angry with him. But that was another strange thing about her: she hadn't gotten angry until _after _he'd left. The conversation between her and Madame in which she had expressed herself so passionately had not been meant for his ears. When she'd spoken to him, albeit through the door, there had been no emotion in her voice at all except for that small hint of sardonic humor. Even in his anger, he'd noticed how practiced that dead tone sounded. It was as if she had trained herself not to reveal any emotion. He wondered, briefly, what he would have seen had he looked in the magic mirror during their argument. What would her face have shown that her voice did not?

He wished the magic mirror could show him. But no, it only showed the present, not the past or the future. It was usually the latter he wished for, so that he could see whether he might be redeemed or not. The past was painful.

He could ask Madame about the girl, but he'd have to do so at a time when the girl herself was not in the room. Which, given the current circumstances, did not seem likely. And he could hardly knock on the door and check! Just the thought made his face heat up. He could order her out of the room, but given her comments the night before, he didn't think she'd take kindly to one more thing she had no choice about.

So here he was, stuck in a circle he could see no escape from. He wanted to know more about the girl, but she wanted nothing to do with him. Which was his own fault. It was so maddening! Especially that, despite instinct telling him he should leave her to her own devices, she still intrigued him.

He set off again into the snow, this time towards the castle. Suddenly snow no longer appealed as a distraction. It was time to dry off in front of a warm fire with a bowl of whatever Mrs. Potts had fixed for lunch. After lunch? Probably back to the West Wing, to see if he could figure a way out of this mess he found himself in.

Belle woke feeling much more rested than she could remember feeling since discovering she was pregnant. She had also slept quite late; the sun was slanting sharply across her carpet.

"Well! There you are!" Madame said when Belle sat up and stretched. "Mrs. Potts was up with a tray, but we decided to let you sleep."

"What time is it now?" asked Belle blearily.

"Nearly noon. You _were _up quite late last night," the wardrobe hastened to add when Belle looked alarmed. "And Mrs. Potts tells me it's only to be expected. Given…you know."

Belle nodded. So Mrs. Potts had explained the situation to Madame. Still… "I've _never _slept this late."

"Don't feel bad, dear, everyone needs a day to themselves. Especially after all you've been through. It's no surprise you slept late. Now, what shall we dress you in today? Lunch will be sent up once Lumière and Cogsworth have double-checked that the Master is out of the way."

"Thank you. This really is too kind of you."

"Oh, it's nothing, child. We're all very pleased to have you here." Madame was sorting through her drawers as she spoke. "It's the first interesting thing to happen in…goodness, I don't remember how long."

Probably ten years, Belle thought. "But…I don't understand," she said aloud, hesitantly. "How is it that none of you seem to care that I'm having a child out of wedlock? It's not that I'm not grateful for your understanding, really it isn't. But you must know how things go in the outside world. I'm ruined forever unless I marry the father of my child."

"Who sounds like a real brute, to be sure," Madame put in.

"He is," Belle agreed. "I would never want a child of mine anywhere near him, let alone raised by such a man. But I know how I would have been treated in my village. No one would want anything to do with a woman having the child of a man she's not married to. Yet you're all being so kind."

"Hmmm." Madame looked thoughtful. "You're quite right: we _do _know how a woman who sleeps with a man who is not her husband is treated in the outside world. And it's perhaps because of that we're prepared to be more understanding. And we all know by now that this isn't your fault. Ah ha!" She pulled out a dress very similar in color to the one Belle had arrived in. However, it was made of light wool rather than cotton. "Here, slip this on. The castle can get drafty sometimes in the winter, though for the most part we're quite snug."

Belle pulled on the dress. Immediately its warmth settled over her. It was also much softer wool than she had ever felt. "This is wonderful. Thank you." Since the mood had shifted, she dared not ask more questions. She had a feeling Madame wouldn't answer if she tried to pry further into the castle's past.

Madame eyed her critically. "Well enough. It's a little tighter at the waist than I'd like. I'll have to see if I can let it out after today."

Belle looked down self-consciously. Sure enough, the dress was straining a little at the seams around her middle. Not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to emphasize the slight bump underneath a bit more than her usual clothes did.

"It's because you're so slender already," Madame said knowingly. "Never fear, we'll have it fixed by tomorrow!"

"I can wear my apron today," Belle offered.

"But, dear, it's in such poor shape! Torn at the hem, and stained so deeply I don't know what will bleach it back…"

"Never mind, then. Unless someone has another I can borrow?" Belle asked doubtfully.

"Maybe Mrs. Potts can find you one in a linen closet somewhere. We'll ask her when she brings the tray."

Right on cue, there was a tap at the door. Belle opened it to admit Mrs. Potts on a rolling cart. There were several covered dishes piled on it.

"Here you are, child," the teapot said. "I'm dreadfully sorry to be late, but we had to make certain the Master was well out of the way before we ventured out of the kitchen. It's all cold things, too, so he won't smell it if he happens to pass by. I hope you'll like it."

"If it's anything like last night, I'm sure I'll love it," Belle answered. Sure enough, the lunch turned out to be delicious, and Belle tucked in happily.

While she ate, Madame broached the subject of the apron.

"An apron?" Mrs. Potts considered. "If we do have one, it's buried in a back cupboard somewhere. I'll send someone to look, but it may take some time."

"That's all right. I'll manage today."

"That reminds me. Lumière and Cogsworth have been putting together some sort of a formal tour of the castle for you. They wanted me to ask if you'd care to join them in the main hall?"

"I'll be happy to have a tour. Everything here still looks alike to me. If I'm going to live here, I should start learning my way around as soon as possible."

"That's very wise of you, dear. Come along, then." Mrs. Potts led the way out of the room. Belle paused to wave to Madame, who creaked a door resignedly back. Belle felt sorry for her, trapped looking at the same four walls for ten years. She hoped the staff had visited frequently, and wondered in almost the same instant how many others like Madame there were. Perhaps Cogsworth, as head of the household, knew. Maybe she could persuade him to let her visit them all.

As promised, Cogsworth and Lumière were waiting in the main hall.

"Ah, good morning mademoiselle!" the candelabra greeted.

"Good afternoon, I should say," corrected Cogsworth.

"Yes, yes, of course," Lumière replied impatiently. "Come along, _chérie_! There is a great deal to see!"

* * *

_Author's Note: I have now caught up to myself, so future posts will take much longer to appear. You've read everything I wrote over the summer and in the past few weeks while I was posting._

_Not a great deal happens in this chapter except for some character building. The next one should be much more interesting._

_Edit 4/2012: Thanks to Charafi for correcting my French. "L__e roi d'hier et de demain" means "the once and future king", which was supposedly inscribed on King Arthur's tomb._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	12. The West Wing

**Chapter 11**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words._

The castle was much more beautiful and interesting with two knowledgeable guides. Belle could easily ignore the snarling gargoyle faces; in fact, the cruel-looking reliefs faded into their stone backgrounds when daylight struck them full-force. Even the gargoyles carved high overhead were much easier to appreciate as works of art with the sun sparkling on their ribbed wings. Interestingly, Cogsworth had little to say about these carvings. He seemed to have a story about everything else, from the painted ceilings to the square stones of the floors, but about anything overly monster-themed he was silent. Belle wondered why this was, but when she hinted at her curiosity Cogsworth hemmed a little and changed the subject. Belle respectfully avoided this taboo from then on, though she mentally stored it away in the ever-lengthening list of castle mysteries.

It was lucky Lumière was also on the tour, or Belle might have grown quite bored. Cogsworth's anecdotes were interesting, and he often drew her attention to something she might have missed, but she didn't understand half of his terms about architecture. Or at least she thought it might be the architecture he was talking about. Listening to him, she felt quite ignorant despite all her attempts at scholarship.

Lumière had his own stories to tell. Instead of things, he talked about people. He would nod knowingly at a certain bedroom and launch into a risqué tale of intrigue that culminated in something dramatic happening within that very room. Usually that someone famous was conceived, or reported to be conceived. Belle might have found these stories insulting, or at least embarrassing, but instead she was oddly comforted by them. Children born of scandal could still accomplish great things, and possibly blot out the stain of their past. There was some hope for her baby, however small, to be more than he would be born into.

None of these tales had occurred any more recently than fifty years. Lumière claimed to have inherited them from his predecessor. "He was even stuffier than Cogsworth, if you can believe it, but he did enjoy his gossip." The candelabra winked at her while Cogsworth glared.

Most of the corridors still looked alike to Belle, though she was beginning to discern slight differences that would help her find her way. If she could find the main hall she always knew where she was, but there were several sprawling wings off the keep, as well as the many towers and turrets that gave the castle its forbidding appearance. The castle was even built into its rock pinnacle, though much of that underground space was used for storage rather than living.

Belle made her inquiry about the servants like Madame de la Grande Bouche and Monsieur Joli who were unable to move. Cogsworth and Lumière both looked surprised when she mentioned it. They glanced at each other, and Cogsworth started counting on nonexistent fingers, mouthing silently.

"There are not too many, I believe, _chérie_," Lumière said, ignoring his counterpart. "Including Madame and Chef, I think perhaps a dozen or so. I would not worry too much about them. They long ago grew used to their situation."

"I'd still like to visit them all sometime," Belle said. "Otherwise they might never see me."

"This is very kind of you, mademoiselle. I shall ask them and see what I can arrange. I am certain they will appreciate it," said Lumière. He nudged Cogsworth, though what that was supposed to mean Belle had no idea. Neither did Cogsworth, who just quirked an eyebrow at the candelabra in a puzzled manner and continued the tour.

Belle paid less and less attention as they wandered further. She had wondered, in light of her revelation the previous night that the castle was under an enchantment, whether these living objects were formerly inanimate and given personalities by the spell, or whether they were once human beings turned into objects. She was fairly certain now the latter was the case, based on unguarded remarks Lumière, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, and even Madame had made. If nothing else, if they had always been objects they would not remember their predecessors. So where did that leave their Master? He was somehow part of the enchantment as well. But was he its originator, or a fellow victim singled out for special treatment? Belle could not begin to guess, though she rather suspected the former.

She was suddenly overcome with the desire to know. The onset of her curiosity was like a physical thing draping over her shoulders. In a lull in the commentary, she said carefully, "This is all so magnificent. The castle does improve on a second look, even if it is enchanted."

"Enchanted?" Cogsworth sputtered, grinding to a halt in the middle of the floor. Belle had anticipated this and stepped neatly to the side, avoiding Lumière's sudden stop as well. "Who said anything about the castle being enchanted?" asked Cogsworth in a voice that sounded like he was attempting to joke and failing. He shot an accusing glare at Lumière. "I ought to—"

"You ought to what?" Lumière repeated mockingly. "Has there ever been a time when you have defeated me at anything, you old lazybones?"

"This time I'll—"

"Nobody told me anything. I figured it out for myself," Belle said, hastily interrupting the argument before gears or wax got spilled on the carpet. "I've read a lot of stories about magic and so on, and I was thinking—"

"Oh, dear! We haven't shown you the library yet!" Lumière interrupted. "And after you specifically requested to see it! We have been much remiss in our duties, Cogsworth."

"Wh—oh, yes of course!" Cogsworth said, instantly distracted from his wrath. "Come right this way, mademoiselle. If you don't mind, we'll bypass this unimportant staircase to your right."

"What's up there?" asked Belle, glanced towards it and involuntarily slowing down. It seemed as ordinary as any other in the castle; she had learned that most such staircases led to a wing of guest rooms, or some other addition to the main castle. This one had the inevitable gargoyle pedestals at the foot, and nothing else to distinguish it. She expected Cogsworth to tell her it contained more empty receiving rooms, and to move on.

Instead, Cogsworth began to hem and haw nervously. "Where? There? Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing of interest at all in the West Wing."

"The West Wing?" Belle repeated. The one place the Master had forbidden to her? It had escaped her memory entirely, as she had assumed she would never find it and had no real desire to get lost searching. Now, here it was right in front of her. Her curiosity returned. Now that she had nearly confirmed the castle was under an enchantment, she wondered what might be kept hidden in the West Wing. Perhaps the key to the whole mystery?

Suddenly she was quite sure that was the case.

"Nice going," Lumière said to Cogsworth. He had clearly seen the expression on Belle's face and realized what it meant. "The library?" he reminded her, a little desperately.

"Oh, of course," she said. Her interest was not entirely feigned; even the mention of a library could always rouse her attention. "I think you said you had a lot of books?"

"Oh, yes!" The relief of the two servants at her apparent _volte-face_ was tangible. "Mountains of books!" exclaimed Lumière.

"Forests of books!" added Cogsworth.

"Cascades! _Swamps _of books!"

"More books than you could ever read in a lifetime…" All the while, the pair was leading her away from the stairs, down the hall. Belle walked with them for a little way, but slowly dropped back until they were out of sight around the corridor. Then she backtracked to that staircase. She paused at the base, listening. No sounds came from above. Neither was there any noise from the hall down which Lumière and Cogsworth had vanished. Her little subterfuge had worked—almost alarmingly well, it seemed to her. She wondered how long it would take for them to realize she wasn't still beside them. Probably not very long. She would not have much time to look around.

Belle climbed the stairs, her fingers trailing lightly along the dusty banister. She kept alert for any sign of movement ahead of her, but there was nothing. When she reached the top, she peered up and down. To the right was a blank wall with paintings so covered in dust it was impossible to tell what they depicted. From the vague shapes under the grime, Belle guessed landscapes rather than portraits.

To the left—Belle stifled a gasp when she saw it. To the left was a disaster scene. The rest of the castle only looked worn. This…this was utter destruction. The paintings on the walls were shredded, and Belle could see claw marks in the stone. The remains of two curio tables littered the ground like so much firewood. The very carpet on the floor was in ribbons.

A sense of danger rippled down her back. She knew whose work this was. If he could do this to furniture, what could he do to her if he caught her? Common sense begged her to turn back, to pretend she had never seen this. Already she knew it would haunt her for some time.

She also knew that if she turned around now, she would wonder to the end of her life what would have happened. Another chance would never come. She forced her feet to move forward.

The gargoyle motif was particularly strong in this one short corridor. Everywhere agonized faces seemed to be staring at her, their eyes empty. She passed a shattered mirror, her own pale face reflecting back in multiple distortions. Swallowing hard, she moved on.

A pair of double doors blocked her path. Again, the gargoyle motif, this time manifesting as the door handles, which made a horrible horned face when the doors were shut. She would have to _touch _one in order to get inside. Belle hesitated, glanced behind her once, then steeled herself and pulled hard on the handle. The door opened with a creak she was sure could be heard clear into the cellars.

If she had thought the corridor was bad, the room waiting behind the door was worse. It looked like a suite. This might have been the living area, had the shattered couches been intact, the paintings not shredded heaps of canvas, the carpets nothing but balls of silken fluff. For a moment, Belle could only lean against the door and stare. Then she shook herself and stepped into the room. The motion sent a few of the silk fluffballs skittering away in the breeze.

She had never seen devastation such as this. The suite must once have been magnificent. All the materials—from what she could tell—were the finest money could buy. She strode through the room, sadly touching a clawed walnut chair here, a tattered brocade curtain there, as she made her way towards the rest of the suite.

The next room was a bedroom, if the mangled former four-poster in one corner was any indication. This room was not in any better shape than the last. However, one painting to her left caught her eye. It was ripped like the rest, but not entirely shredded, as if the one who had done it could not bear to destroy it beyond recognition.

This painting was a portrait of some sort, and only of the head and shoulders. She thought the subject might be male, from what little she could see of his clothing. He had flowing hair of an unusual tint that seemed to combine blond, red, and light brown. There was little else Belle could tell about him; the portrait was ripped right across the face.

Except for the eyes. They were an arresting, memorable, summer-sky blue. She had seen eyes like those before.

Was this the answer, then? Had the castle's Master also once been human? Belle had a hard time believing it. The servants were so human in every way but appearance it was hard not to see them for what they were if one was paying attention. Their Master, however—he acted as nothing more than a beast that somehow had the ability to speak.

Of course, she had known someone whose only claim to humanity was his appearance. But why then, if this castle's Master had once been human, had he warranted such a transformation while Gaston was allowed to remain a man after what he'd done to her? Belle shook her head stubbornly. No, there had to be another explanation.

Still, she couldn't seem to move away. Her fingers reached out involuntarily to touch the portrait. Carefully, she took the delicate fabric hanging from the rip across the subject's face and pulled it up to its rightful place again so that the picture was complete.

He was younger than she'd first thought, hardly more than a boy. Perhaps fourteen at most. The artist had not been able to soften the stark contrast between the strong bones of the boy's face and the hollowness of his cheeks and eyes. He might be handsome as a man, but as it was he needed to grow into his chiseled looks.

A flicker of light caused Belle to spin, thinking Lumière had caught her. No one was there. However, the light continued to shine from behind a hanging curtain. Tilting her head curiously, Belle peered around the curtain to find a small place surprisingly clear of destruction. True, there was little to destroy, just a small round table at about waist height sitting in front of the entrance to a balcony. However, the marble table was upright and unmarked. And sitting on it…

A blooming rose, under a clear glass bell jar. Belle knew at once she had found what she had come to the West Wing looking for. Not only did this rose glow with a soft pink light, but it was floating, severed stem down, an inch or two above the table. As she looked at it, a phrase floated through Belle's head.

_Five months, twelve days._

Belle blinked, and drew back. Five months and twelve days? What on earth could that mean? She glanced at her belly. Her time would be in six months or so, if she'd calculated right. Might this rose be predicting when her child would be born? What a strange power for a simple rose to have, even an enchanted one.

She stepped around the curtain and confronted the rose again. This time a different phrase: _nine years, ten months, five days._

It made no sense at all. Nine years, ten months, and five days was an arbitrary number to her. She'd been eleven or so at the time. Her mother had still been alive, and they had been living in…Marseilles, perhaps. Nothing significant had happened that she could recall.

She looked away, and back again. _Five months, twelve days._

It now seemed logical that these dates had nothing to do with her, or the baby. They were some part of the magic spell on the rose. Belle approached it cautiously. As she drew closer, she saw that it was not perfect and lovely as she had expected a magical rose to be. It was wilting, and there was a pile of petals on the table under it.

She was still sure, however, that this was the key to every mystery in the castle, if only she could unravel it. Like a heroine in one of her fairy tales. Gently, she lifted off the bell jar and set it aside.

A light breeze ruffled the rose's petals, and another drifted downward towards its fellows. It landed on Belle's outstretched hand. She felt a slight tingle as it touched her skin, but nothing else happened. With reverence she placed the petal in the pile with the others, and reached out to touch the rose itself.

A shadow suddenly passed over her. She yanked away as the bell jar slammed down where her hand had been just moments before.

And looked up into a pair of furious blue eyes.

_

* * *

Author's Note: I've never liked the West Wing sequence, for various reasons. It has great music, but it's creepy enough to be in a Halloween movie. Especially with the Beast jumping out in the end. I also find it to be somewhat out of character for Belle. She has no good reason to go see the West Wing other than she's curious, and maybe wants to defy the Beast for being so nasty to her. I have already tried once to explain it in my oneshot story "All Along." This is a second attempt, which is based on some of the same logic but entwined in this alternate universe I'm creating._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	13. If I Can't Love Her

**Chapter 12**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just write as the muse commands, which often includes writing based on premises others own. It unfortunate, but also unfortunately fun._

_What was she doing here? _The Beast stared at the young woman before him. She held the hand he'd nearly crushed with the bell jar close to her chest as if afraid it might still be hurt. Her skin was rapidly losing all color, and he could almost feel her shrinking away.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled. What he really wanted to know was how she had gotten in the West Wing without him noticing. He had only been on the balcony, yet his ears hadn't even detected her opening the door.

She took a step backwards. "I…"

"Didn't I warn you not to come here?!"

"But…"

"_Didn't I?!_"

"Yes," she said. "But I didn't mean any harm."

"That doesn't matter!" he snapped. "You disobeyed my direct order. Do you realize what you could have done?!"

"I'm sorry…" She backed away even further, against a shattered wardrobe. He paused, his rising temper checked as her tone of voice registered in his ears: the very tone she had used to refuse dinner with him. That dead tone that masked all but the strongest emotion. Her face was set, also trying to show nothing, but he could hear the wardrobe creaking slightly as she trembled. Was this what had been going on behind her door that night? He knew she was afraid, but the signs were subtle—mostly that she was slowly edging away. His sensitive animal ears couldn't detect a hint of fear in her voice.

Where had the girl learned to hide her fright like this? Surely not in her few encounters with him. The Beast had never known anyone, before the curse or afterwards, who could hide their fear so well. Not even the clumsiest maidservant, who received a dressing-down from Cogsworth at least once a day, could pretend to feel nothing when the head of the household started in on her. True, Cogsworth was nowhere near as intimidating as he, the Beast, was. It made the girl's control all the more remarkable.

He took a half-step towards her, and she stiffened, shrinking further back into the wardrobe's wood. She seemed almost to be bracing herself to take a blow, though she remained composed.

Something stirred within him. It was something he only seemed to feel around her. His mind finally found the name for it.

Pity. He felt sorry for her.

"Go," he said, gentling his rough voice as much as he could manage. "Don't come up here again. Do I have your word?"

"Yes," she whispered. She was eyeing him so strangely, as if she couldn't believe he would just let her go like that. He couldn't believe what he was doing, either. She had violated his direct orders, and in so doing, his most precious sanctuary. She knew about the rose. She had been about to _touch _it, something not even he himself had dared to do. He should be furious, and when he'd first seen her in the room, he had been. Furious enough to hurt her without a care for the consequences. But something about the way she reacted to his rage had stopped him cold. He couldn't bring himself to punish her, though he knew he should to make certain she didn't disobey him again.

She turned to go. As she did, something in the way she moved caught his eye, and he froze in shock and suspicious horror.

She had removed the tattered apron she'd been wearing when he first saw her. As a matter of fact, the dress she wore was different than the original, and it fit her differently. Enough to show the small bulge at her waistline. He had seen such bulges before the curse, on female servants and courtiers. Sometimes the women tried to hide them for a time under layers of clothing, as this girl had done, but now there was no mistaking it.

Suddenly, he understood why something about her scent had caught his attention. As an animal, he had somehow sensed it in a way his human brain had not had the ability to understand. The girl was with child.

"You didn't mention a husband," he heard his own voice saying, almost casually, to her retreating back. This was very bad; he could hardly expect a married woman to fall in love with him, but it was far better than the alternative. The thought that he might have been sheltering an adulteress made him shudder. His father would be turning over in his grave.

_Where is her wedding band, then?_ a small corner of his mind asked.

Sure enough, she looked down at her stomach. He'd been right about her pregnancy, at least. She sighed, a short, tense sound. "I don't have a husband," she said in a low voice.

"_What?_" He barely recognized his own voice in the threatening hiss that escaped.

She turned to face him. Now he could see the fear on her face, but he was past caring. "I'm not married," she said.

The brazen little…proclaiming it to the world as if she didn't care whether he knew. "But you're with child," he growled. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. I am."

"You…" The word he wanted drifted up to his lips out of the recess of his memory. "You're nothing but a _whore_."

It was what his father had called his mother, in front of their son and the whole court, when her infidelity had been uncovered. That single word had brought the once-proud princess to her knees. The Beast could think of no insult lower. He wanted to rant, but he was so angry he could not continue. How could he have been duped this way?

If he had expected the girl to collapse in guilt, as his mother had done, he was sadly mistaken. Instead, to his immense surprise, her head snapped up and she looked him full in the face. Her eyes were blazing pinpoints of fury.

"You _dare_," she snapped, in a hiss that matched his own. Her voice was low, but he caught every word. "How _dare_ you judge me, when you don't know what happened? When you don't know what I've been through? When you don't know me? When you don't know _anything_?"

She might as well have slapped him in the face. He reeled a step back. No one had ever spoken to him in such a tone.

"_Get out_."

When she moved too slowly, he reached forward, for what purpose he had no idea, and his claws snagged on the sleeve of her dress. She yanked away with a cry of terror. Three deep rips were left in the wool fabric.

"Promise or no promise, I won't stay here!" she wailed. Covering her eyes with her hands, she fled. He heard her stumble through the suite and out the doors.

He didn't bother to pursue. He simply stood there, seething.

Of all the tricks for fate to pull. A single human girl had found her way to the castle in ten years of the curse. His hopes had begun to rise. But to find out she was pregnant by another man, a man she wasn't even married to…it was too much. To think of falling in love with a ruined woman like that—not even a human man would contemplate it. He felt _cheated_.

Her words came echoing back. _"How dare_ _you judge me…when you don't know anything?" _ The Beast snorted. Well, he knew all he needed to know about her. The only thing that mattered. He whirled around and stalked back to the balcony to watch and make sure she left. She'd said she would, hadn't she? _"Promise or no promise…" _Then she would be off his hands. He didn't even care that she was breaking their bargain. He'd be happy if he never saw her again. She deserved whatever would happen to her in the forest, for feeding him hope and then yanking it away.

He peered over the balcony just in time to watch her clatter across the stone bridge on her massive horse. He growled under his breath, still boiling with fury. Good riddance.

As he turned back, his eye was caught by the rose. Instead of informing him how little time he had left to break the spell, it flashed brightly. For a brief instant, he was back in that dream he'd had on the girl's first night. The one where he had, prophetically he now saw, turned her from the castle. The girl stood there, bundle in her arms, glaring at him just as she had moments before. She shimmered, and became the enchantress, but she continued to glare with that same righteous anger. She whirled her wand, and the Beast took a step back, covering his eyes.

He was back in the West Wing. The rose looked just as it always did. But now the Beast recalled the enchantress's words from that dream: _"__Take care. This is your last chance."_

"Some last chance," the Beast said aloud.

_"I once warned you about allowing appearances to deceive you," _said his dream-memory.

"What do you mean?"

No answer. The Beast growled under his breath and began to pace. Things were clear. He knew what he'd seen. The girl had _confirmed _it, for heaven's sake. She hadn't even tried to deny she was having a baby by a man she wasn't married to.

_"How dare you judge me…"_

He stopped as if he'd hit a wall of glass. One of her accusations was true: he _didn't _know what had happened to her. He knew what she'd told him, and what he'd assumed. What if…?

He shook his head violently a few times, causing his mane to ripple. He hated this. He hated not being sure. That girl really did make him feel like he didn't know anything sometimes, that the world was different than the way he had perceived it all his life, and it was not a comfortable feeling. For that, he'd hated _her_. But maybe, just maybe, he'd made a mistake.

It was also true that he didn't know her at all. That was _her _fault; she'd told Madame she wanted nothing to do with him, and he had respected her wishes.

This was so confusing! The Beast did realize the girl was right about one thing: he'd judged too quickly. From the way she'd reacted, things might not be as simple as he'd assumed they were. And now she was gone. His last hope. The enchantress had as good as told him so.

His paw had already picked up the mirror before he'd consciously ordered it.

"Show me the girl," he commanded.

The mirror obediently shimmered, and cleared to show the girl and her horse. The Beast's chest tightened when he saw the outlines of wolves through the trees. An unarmed girl and her panicked mount stood no chance against a pack eager to fatten up for the long winter ahead.

"Show me how to reach them," he ordered the mirror.

The view in the mirror swirled dizzyingly, but it backed to the castle and displayed the route he'd have to take to find the pair. The Beast tried to memorize a few landmarks, then put the mirror down beside the rose and started out of the West Wing.

He wondered what he thought he was doing, heading out to rescue a girl who a few moments before he'd been pleased to see the back of, and for good reason. The years of hopeless waiting had probably gone to his head at last. He'd lost his mind. But he did know that if he wanted to stand a chance of finding out her story, he'd better make sure she didn't die before she could tell it to him. If he really had made a mistake in turning her out, then he knew that if she were killed he'd have one more thing to feel terrible about for the rest of his life as a monster.

The servants wisely stayed out of his way as he stalked through the halls and out the front door. The Beast was glad; he didn't want to have to stop and explain. Especially since he had no explanation.

An icy wind blew through his fur, but for once he was grateful for thick snow. The horse's hoofprints were clear. He'd also hunted a little when he was younger, as royalty was expected to do. Though he'd lost interest when his father became ill, he did remember a few things. Tracking the girl would be quite simple.

The insanity of his plan hit him full-force after about ten minutes of running through the woods at top speed. The path was still clear, and he could tell where the wolves had begun the chase. But what good was he against a pack of wolves? He might be a monster with claws and teeth to match theirs, but he knew nothing about how animals fought. And he'd have to fight, if he wanted to convince them the girl was no prize.

He almost turned around and went back home right then. But he came to a tree buckled in on itself, with a dead wolf lying beneath it. It was quite clear what had happened: the horse had crushed the wolf between itself and the tree. Probably at the girl's direction.

His respect for her rose higher, unbidden. She was obviously clever as well as brave. Even under attack she had kept her head and fought back when she could. He might not have to fight all by himself. He continued on.

He bypassed a frozen pond that girl and horse had fallen into. Their prints were on the far bank, so he wasn't worried about searching the water.

The chase lengthened, and his muscles began to ache. He cursed himself with the little brain function he could spare for letting his quarry get so far ahead.

Then, suddenly, he was there. The horse was rearing and plunging, riderless with its reigns caught in a treebranch. The Beast couldn't see the girl, and for a moment his heart sank. Then his eyes found a flash of blue. She was pinned with her back against a tree, fending off half the pack with a broken branch. The Beast hesitated, afraid for a moment that she wouldn't realize he was on her side—at least for now—and bash him with the branch as well if he hurried in.

Their eyes met over the ring of wolves. Hers widened. He saw what was about to happen before it did and charged forward.

Her grip on the branch loosened. The wolves sensed weakness, and one of them leapt for her throat. She didn't have enough time to bring the branch up again, but the Beast was already there, knocking the wolf aside. It flew and hit a tree several feet away. The Beast spun to face the rest of the pack, the girl behind him.

He really didn't remember much of what happened next. Just small flashes. The entire pack jumping him, their claws burrowing into his fur. The girl using her branch to knock a few of them off his back. The horse's hooves flashing this way and that. A pain on the Beast's arm he barely noticed. A blur of teeth and claws and gray fur, mingled with the snarls of the wolves and his own roars…

And then he flung yet another wolf off of him, he heard a howling cry abruptly broken off…and it was over. The wolves were running yelping into the trees, tails between their legs. Silence descended abruptly.

All three of the small clearing's remaining occupants—horse, girl, Beast—stared at one another with wary eyes. Then, as if rehearsed, they all looked around. A single wolf lay beneath a tree. It was very still, and from the angle of its head the Beast could see that its neck had snapped. He turned away, feeling as if he were about to throw up. Had _he _done that?

At the movement, all of his hurts decided to inform him of their existence. A particularly intense pain in his right forearm made him look down. He immediately regretted it. A bite mark had torn a sizable chunk from his arm. Warm blood was everywhere, quickly freezing in dark clumps to his fur in the icy air. The Beast felt the world tilt at the sight of it. He'd never been comfortable with blood, his own or anyone else's. Lucky for him, you rarely saw blood in a royal palace.

_I hope the girl's not hurt this badly, too. I still want to talk to her…_was his last coherent thought before something that felt like a wall of snow hit him. Darkness descended, and he knew no more.

* * *

_Author's Note: Apologies for the delay, my computer caught an ugly virus and I couldn't go on the internet without it re-dowloading itself. What a nightmare. It seems to be gone now, though I will be paranoid for the next month every time I turn my computer on. The worst part is I have no idea where I picked it up and am therefore afraid of all my usual websites._

_There's a lot I want to say about this chapter, but I'll keep it brief. I've had the West Wing exchange between Belle and the Beast in mind for a long time. I hope I've explained the name-calling sufficiently enough that I don't have to justify it. Now I can really start messing with the conversations, because beyond the fireside one there really aren't any--just brief little scenes with a few words._

_Out of curiosity, how did so many people come across this fic? I've gotten twice as many story alerts for it as any of my other stories. I expected it to be read by very few due to the M rating._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	14. Heat Wave

**Chapter 13**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast._

He was warm. That was the first thing the Beast noticed as he returned to consciousness. He could no longer feel the individual piercings of cold that were clumps of snow in his fur.

The next thing he was aware of was the pain, especially on his arm. He moaned a little.

"Ah, he's awake," said Mrs. Potts' voice.

"Oh, dear," said another voice. This one the Beast recognized but couldn't place. "I was hoping to clean that bite before he woke. Never mind. Can you fetch some hot water, a basin, and a towel, please?"

"Right away, dear." A rolling sound.

"Mrs. Potts?" the Beast asked blearily.

"She went to the kitchen to fetch me something to clean your wounds," replied the other voice. He couldn't recall to whom it belonged. It was young, female, and matter-of-fact.

The Beast opened his eyes. He was in the castle, in his own front parlor, in fact ensconced in his favorite chair. For the life of him he could not remember how he had gotten there. The last thing he really remembered was blood on his arm, and numbing cold. Lumière, Cogsworth, Chip, and Babette were gathered before the fire in a tight, worried group. On one of the couches, with a heavy blanket draped regally around her shoulders sat…

The girl. Hers had been that practical voice he couldn't place. He realized with an odd feeling that he'd never bothered to remember her name. Her father had mentioned it, but it wouldn't come to mind. Something that started with a 'B,' maybe.

She met his eyes, and stood, the blanket still around her shoulders. "How do you feel?"

"I hurt," he grumbled.

A muscle jumped subtly on her face, as if she were restraining a grimace—or a laugh. "I know, and when Mrs. Potts gets here we'll do something about that. I meant, besides that. Do you feel weak, ill?"

He considered. "Not ill. Just tired."

"Ah." There was an awkward silence. The girl looked down at the floor, and the Beast also felt his eyes drifting in that direction. The words he'd said to her before she'd fled seemed to hang in the air between them. He felt he should apologize, but couldn't bring himself to do so. What if he'd been right all along? Then there'd be no need to apologize.

Mrs. Potts arrived right then, luckily. She smiled when she saw the Beast looking at her. "There you are, Master, you had us all quite worried! Here you are, Belle, dear."

_Belle._ Beauty.

"Thank you, Mrs. Potts." Belle took the steaming basin off the teapot's tray, along with the towel. She brought both next to the Beast's chair, knelt, and wrung some water into the cloth.

It was only then the Beast realized what she intended. "Oh, no. Keep that away from me."

She lowered the towel, and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It's going to _hurt_."

"Just hold still. It will be over before you know it. We have to do this or your cuts might get infected. Then it will hurt _worse_."

The Beast just looked at her dubiously. Belle sighed, and glanced at the servants.

"You know, she _is _right, Master," Lumière said nervously. "It will get worse later if you don't make certain it is clean."

"No telling _what _those nasty wolves had for their last meal," Cogsworth added with a shudder.

"You see?" Belle turned back to look at the Beast. "If it helps, I already did my own." She held out an arm. It was bare, the sleeve nothing but ribbons. A long gash cut its way from wrist to elbow. He gulped as he remembered the reason that arm was bare: he had torn the sleeve in the West Wing. Had his claws cut her as well?

"You didn't do this," Belle said, as if she'd read his mind. "I cut my arm on a branch when I was thrown from Philippe. My horse."

It made him feel a little better. Still, he withheld the wounded arm. "I'll clean it myself. See?" He made to lick it.

"Don't do that," Belle said with a wince. "Just take a deep breath and it will be over as quickly as I can make it. The more you fight, the longer this will take."

"This wouldn't be necessary if you hadn't run into a pack of wolves," he grumbled as she reached for his arm.

She made an indignant noise.

"What?" he snapped. "You think that was _my _fault?"

"Who told me to get out?" she asked in a logical tone.

She'd touched a guilty nerve. "What were _you _doing in the West Wing, then?"

"Have you done anything but yell at me since I arrived?"

"Of course, I—" He stopped. That cool tone of voice was back. He blinked, and looked at her more closely. Her face was carefully neutral, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. Now that he thought about it, she'd mentioned something similar to Madame in the magic mirror.

He looked away. "No, I haven't," he said. Even to himself he sounded unbearably sulky.

She said nothing. When he dared a look, there was a real expression on her face. She actually appeared taken aback. When she caught him looking, she flushed a little, but her expression had shifted to a more thoughtful one. Without a word, she took his unresisting arm, and had a swab on it before he realized what she had done. He flinched at the sting but held himself still. His fur was prickling, and he realized it was the first time he had been touched in years. He handled the servants sometimes, like picking Lumière up in his capacity as candelabra, but the servants never touched him. It was a strange sensation.

Why was she doing this? He'd done nothing to endear himself to her, as she'd just pointed out. She had no reason to show him any kindness. In fact, thinking back, he had been completely powerless when he'd fainted in the woods. She could easily have left him there. He would have died alone in the cold, and she would have gotten on with her life with her father and, presumably, her unborn child. Instead, it appeared she had brought him back despite her own injuries and was now caring for him almost against his will.

"Why?" he blurted out.

She paused in cleaning the bite. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because as wound getting infected is a terrible thing. No one deserves that, especially since it can be prevented. I used to nurse birds that my friends and I would find when I was younger, so I know what to do." She went back to cleaning.

So that was it. She saw him as a poor suffering animal to care for. Of course she didn't expect anything like gratitude, because animals couldn't show any. She did what she did out of some generous impulse. A few of the court ladies had been like this; bring a sick or injured animal to them and they would not rest until it was well again, even if the animal itself growled and savaged them.

Still, the girl had given up a chance at freedom. Had he somehow survived, he wouldn't have begrudged her her chance at escape. Much. It wasn't as if he still particularly wanted her here.

He felt her fingers go still, and glanced down. She was looking him right in the eye. "I also owe you a debt. You saved my life." She paused. "Thank you."

He was amazed. So she _didn't _see him as just another animal to nurse. She understood that he had decided to come after her despite ordering her out.

"You're welcome," he heard his own voice say. It was an automatic habit he didn't even know he'd retained.

If he thought he read her brief expression right, he would have said she looked pleased. Then she turned back to his arm. "Done," she said. "I need—"

"Bandages," Mrs. Potts finished. "Here, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potts. You're a Godsend." Belle smiled at the teapot and went to fetch the bandages. She came back and wound the cloth around and around the Beast's arm.

"There. That should do it. I'll have to…" Belle staggered as she began to rise, and ended up clutching the back of the Beast's chair.

"Are you well, _chérie_?" aksed Lumière.

"Of course," she answered. She let go of the chair and staggered again. She put a hand to her temple. "I just have a little headache, that's all."

"Bed for you, dear," Mrs. Potts said firmly. "You must have over-exhausted yourself today. You too, Master. I'll bring you both some hot soup later. Come on."

They took Belle back to her room first. The young woman nodded to them both as Madame took charge of her. Awkwardly the Beast raised a paw in response. The door closed.

"I'm proud of you for going after the girl, Master," Mrs. Potts remarked as they walked—in her case, rolled on her tea-cart—to the West Wing.

"I just wanted to hear her story," the Beast said. "She couldn't tell me if she was dead."

"Her story?" Mrs. Potts repeated.

"She's pregnant," the Beast informed her "She's not married to the father."

"I know," answered Mrs. Potts.

"She _told _you?!" The Beast struggled to contain his outrage.

"No. At least, not at first. She told us when I guessed she was expecting. And," she added, "I don't believe the poor dear would have told us otherwise until she couldn't hide it anymore. She's that afraid to be judged."

"What happened to her?" asked the Beast. Maybe he wouldn't have to ask the girl.

"That isn't mine to tell, sir."

The Beast growled.

"Try to understand, sir. I sense she's been through more than any of us know. And she may not be ready to tell you much at all even if you ask. She hardly told us anything, and she seemed in a telling mood. You must try to be patient."

The Beast growled again. They both knew patience was not a strong suit of his.

"You _must _try, if you want to know anything about her," Mrs. Potts asserted.

The Beast resolved to at least wait until tomorrow. Then he'd ask.

He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep, but it appeared that Mrs. Potts had been right about over-exhaustion. The stress of the day meant he fell into oblivion almost instantly once he reached his bed. The pain of his arm did not wake him once during the night.

Mrs. Potts brought in bad news with breakfast. Belle had developed a fever overnight and was not up to seeing anyone.

"She's in good hands with Madame, but she's very weak," the teapot reported. "Worn to the bone, and too much time out in the cold. Nothing a few days' rest and some good meals won't cure."

"Feed her whatever you feel will help," the Beast ordered, knowing he was lifting his ban on Belle eating without him.

"Thank you, Master," Mrs. Potts beamed. "She'll be happy to hear it."

The Beast was left alone to distract himself from his pain. Even walking hurt, and to make things worse, he was also very stiff. Eventually, he found himself wandering down to Belle's door without any real plan on what to do when he got there.

Mrs. Potts emerged just as he arrived. "There's no use hovering, Master. These things take their own time."

"What will make her better faster?"

"I can ask and see if she wants anything." Mrs. Potts vanished back into the dim room. The Beast tried to peer into the shadows after her, but all his eyes could detect was some vague movement. He heard low voices, though he easily picked out Madame's fluting tones.

Mrs. Potts emerged again. "She says she'd like a book to pass the time."

"A book?" The Beast was confused. Why would she want to study while she was sick? That was one of the few things that had gotten him _out _of studying when he was young.

"I can fetch one," Mrs. Potts said, reading the uncertainty on his face.

"No, I'll do it." The Beast surprised even himself with this response.

Mrs. Potts blinked at him. "Very well, sir." She left on her cart, presumably back to the kitchen. Chip peered at the Beast from behind his mother all the way down the hall.

The Beast hadn't been in the library in years. He paused at the large double doors. They seemed to lead into a dark and mysterious cave rather than just a room full of books. True, the room itself was cavernous, but he'd never realized how different it would look dim and shut and musty. He shook his head. It was just the library. He went to find Lumière or one of his fellow candlesticks.

Five minutes later, he had opened the curtains on a few windows in the library, and a candlestick-page had hopped back to its regular duties. The Beast surveyed the library. Now to find a book. But which one? This library boasted thousands. Finally, he went to the one section he remembered—the schoolroom section. From it he selected a book at random, closed the curtains again, and padded back to Belle's room.

Madame permitted him entrance, dubiously. Belle was propped up in bed, her face flushed and her hair disheveled. She looked surprised to see him enter alone.

As he approached the bed, the Beast couldn't help but notice Belle's nightgown was very fine and hugged every curve. She was covered up to the waist, but his mouth went dry just from what he could see.

"Yes?" Belle asked curiously when he was silent too long.

He hastily cleared his throat. "I brought you a book. Mrs. Potts said you said it would make you feel better."

Belle's eyes lit, but she still looked a little uncertain. "Thank you. That was very…thoughtful." She reached out, which shifted her nightgown and caused the Beast's face to flush hot, but he handed over the book.

"_A Brief Historie of the Kinges of the Illustrious Realme of France_," Belle read out. "Ah…thank you very much."

Something in her face—not her voice, which was again carefully neutral—told the Beast she was not entirely thrilled.

"You don't want a book?" he asked.

"No, no! I want to read. I've just…never read this one before." She hesitated. "Is it…one of your favorites?"

"My favorite what?"

"Favorite book?"

"No. Why would it be?" Favorite _book_? He was confused again.

"I was just curious, since you picked this particular one, and Cogsworth mentioned your library was quite large."

"It is," the Beast agreed, not sure what this had to do with it.

"Never mind," Belle said quickly. "I'm sure it will be very interesting. Thank you for thinking of me."

"You're welcome." Again, the response was automatic. Task completed, the Beast turned and left the room. He didn't dare look back, either to see what expression the girl wore or for another glimpse of her cuves.

Once well away, he paused and took a deep breath. What was wrong with him? He really had lost his wits. Fetching the book didn't worry him too much, though he'd never had to fetch something for someone else in his life. That was what servants were for. However, in this case he felt justified in doing servants' work for the sake of satisfying his own curiosity. The faster the girl got better, the sooner she could explain why it was not a bad thing to be pregnant without being married.

No, what bothered him was his reaction to her. Oh, he'd known the major differences between a woman's body and a man's years before the curse. One didn't grow up in a royal court and not learn _some _things. He knew perfectly well how babies were made—he'd seen servants in secluded corners a few times. In fact, his most specific explanation had come from Lumière after he'd caught the _maitre d' _and Babette the maid together once. And he vaguely recalled, in the last year or so before the curse, becoming inexplicably uncomfortable in the presence of women like Madame and Babette who were well-endowed. The spell itself had ended that—there were no longer any women with voluptuous curves about to look at.

But this. This went beyond just feeling vaguely uncomfortable. These were actual physical symptoms for which he had no explanation other than the sight of a woman's chest under a thin nightdress. He wished he could talk to Lumière about it, but his stomach squirmed with embarrassment at the very thought. He'd have to keep this to himself. And avoid the new resident if there was any possibility she wouldn't be fully clothed.

Why, oh why had she come here? She had brought nothing but trouble in her wake.

_

* * *

Author's Note: My computer is still not fully virus protected after the last attack, so I wrote this chapter by hand in a notebook, then typed it out in a Word document when I knew I would have internet access. I must say, it's very irritating to have a story kicking around in your head and no way to express itself._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I like writing from the Beast's perspective, especially now. I think I have a better understanding about his impotent frustration in a situation in which he has no control after the last month of dealing with my computer problems. And I have a new respect for him not losing his mind—it's only been a month for me, and he's had to survive a decade. The last little scene with the book came to me quite unexpectedly. I was mainly stalling for time so Belle can get more comfortable with the Beast, and he with her to a degree, before he starts asking questions she doesn't really want to answer. The results were surprising. The Beast just thinks he's satisfying his curiosity, while Belle will start to see him in a more positive light despite his inwardly selfish motives. And I was also reminded that the Beast was a young teenager when he was transformed. He'd have no idea what to do about any physical attraction to Belle. So I threw that in as well just to give him more to bother him._

_Thanks to all for your responses to the last chapter. I owe a minor apology to my regular readers. I know perfectly well how you came across this story—you have me on author alert, or you stalk my profile in some such way. I was curious how people who've never read my stuff before found the story, because I expected a low response given the content._


	15. Beauty and the Beast

**Chapter 14**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Belle stared at the door as it closed, book clutched loosely in hand.

_What was that about? _she thought.

Looking for an answer, she glanced at the book again. It was handsomely bound in brown leather, its title monogrammed in what she was willing to bet was real gold. It probably cost as much to purchase as Philippe had. Yet her captor had handed it to her, so casually, because she'd asked for a book.

Gingerly, she opened it. The cover crackled, telling her it had never been opened. Or if it had, it had been a very long time ago. He'd been telling her the truth about it not being a favorite of his.

She ran a finger down the elaborately printed frontspiece. It repeated the book's title inside a plaque surmounted by symbols of the French Royal House. History was a subject she hadn't had much of a chance to study. Most booksellers stocked novels for the public, along with Bibles, religious tracts and other treatises for moral improvement. Few people were much interested in history outside of scholars in universities.

Belle smiled a little. It seemed Cogsworth had not been exaggerating when he said the castle had an extensive book collection, if it contained items like these.

Which reminded her of something. She looked at the frontspiece again, and sure enough, the book had been published fifteen years before. While this was not a complete confirmation, it at least partially substantiated the notion that the castle had been cut off from the outside world for the past ten years. Belle wondered what the other library books would tell her.

In the meantime, she was far too weak to get out of bed. She knew because she'd already tried, before the castle's Master had so unexpectedly appeared. Her intermittent fever made the room whirl at times, and then gave her others, like now, of perfect clarity. But she could feel the fog starting to close in again. She gently placed the book on the nightstand, drew the curtain, and allowed darkness to descend.

It was two more days before she was finally fever-free. In that time, she'd perused the history book fairly well. The language was archaic in places, but no more so than some of the medieval books of romance she sometimes read. The book itself tended to be dry when discussing international politics or the nuances of government—those parts she skipped after falling asleep twice in the midst of reading. The rest of it was much more interesting. The intrigues of the court, the strange edicts, even the occasional descriptions of petitions various Kings granted that led to great changes for the country. Under other circumstances, Belle might have been slightly bored, but there was nothing else to do. And the book wasn't too bad, really. She certainly learned a lot. Some of the court rituals confused her—maybe she could find a book or two on etiquette when she got better.

She saw nothing of her captor during those two days. It didn't particularly bother her, though she did not dread him dropping in again as she would have before the night with the wolves. Something had changed in the time between his rescue of her and his giving of the book—at least for her. Perhaps it was because she had finally seen him in a mood other than angry. He was clearly not all temper—she'd now seen him check it twice, first in the West Wing and then again in the parlor. He'd actually seemed awkward a few times. Unconsciously until now, she realized she was coming to accept that there was more to him than a lot of teeth and hair. He wasn't the animal she'd first thought, at least not totally. Now she had no idea what to make of him.

It was almost easier to simply think of him as a monster.

On the second day, Mrs. Potts allowed Belle out of bed. By that point, Belle herself was fully alert and ready for a distraction. She allowed Madame to dress her in a neat wool gown; this one was a subdued midnight blue with colorful flowers embroidered on the cuffs and hems. Belle liked the sleeves particularly. They dangled below her wrists a few inches and felt very medieval to her. This dress also fit her perfectly; no straining at the waist, which overall made her pregnancy less noticeable.

She complimented Madame on the choice, and the wardrobe actually flushed. "Really, it's nothing. Anything looks good on you, Belle, dear."

Belle doubted that, but she accepted the compliment without protest. She was too happy to be leaving her rooms at last. She went slowly but deliberately through the halls. Everywhere she went, servants smiled at her, or nodded, or expressed relief at her recovery. Belle automatically smiled and nodded back, until she realized what she was doing. She grinned ruefully. This was the same ritual enacted every morning in the village. Still, it couldn't hurt to be polite. At least, hopefully, no one here would be dreadfully insulted if she forgot to acknowledge them. Belle continued to smile and greet as she went.

She first made her way to the stables. Philippe had been worried about her—he whinnied enthusiastically when he saw her coming. Belle hugged his big nose.

"I missed you too, boy. How are you?" She conducted a thorough examination of her horse. She was happy to see someone had tended his minor cuts and bruises while she convalesced, so that he was nearly healed.

"Come on. We'll go for a little walk," she said. She put a fine leather halter on him; no bridle, since she didn't intend to ride. Philippe sighed, and Belle laughed and hugged him again.

"We'll ride some other time. Before I get too big to mount, that is," she added with a sigh of her own. Philippe just eyed her. "Never mind. Let's not think about that," she said, and led him out.

They strolled slowly through the snow of the gardens until Belle felt tired. She leaned on Philippe on the way back, and once inside the castle did not even look at the stairs. Instead, she made her way to the front parlor and collapsed on a couch. Tucking her stocking feet under her skirt, she fell asleep instantly.

When she awoke, a fire was burning in the hearth and a warm blanket had been tucked around her. The moment she moved, Lumière appeared in the doorway.

"Ah, there you are, _chérie_! We decided not to disturb you, so we did what we could to make you comfortable."

"Thank you," said Belle, stretching stiff muscles.

"Perhaps a bite to eat?" asked Lumière eagerly.

Belle considered. "Maybe later. I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the fire for a little while."

"Very well," Lumière replied with a bow. He left.

Belle rested back against the couch. She didn't drift off again, but was just content to sit and watch the flames dancing in the fireplace.

A grunt of surprise at the door made her whirl. The Master stood in the doorway.

"I didn't—you—I had no idea you were out of your room. In here," he stammered.

Belle almost laughed at the expression on his face. He really was genuinely surprised, and she thought she read some dismay there as well. "I'll go if you'd rather be alone," she offered.

He eyed her. Now his expression was impossible to read. She started to get up, taking his silence as affirmative, but then he waved a paw at her. "No. Stay. I'm just not used to…to turning corners and finding you there."

Belle realized she was clutching the couch armrest and forced herself to relax. His appearance had frightened her more than she wanted to admit. And it was hard not to eye his teeth and claws without some nerves. She took a slow, steadying breath.

They looked at one another awkwardly for a few more seconds. Then he swept his tattered cloak around to go.

"Wait," Belle said, holding out her hand. "I did want to thank you again for the book."

"It did make you feel better, then?"

"I always feel better when I read," Belle said, smiling in spite of herself. "And the book was very…instructional. Truly. I never thought a history book would be that interesting."

"Really?" He took a step, almost involuntarily it seemed, towards her. "I never enjoyed history. It was always 'This King said that, did this, died hundreds of years ago…" He shrugged.

"You—" Belle halted herself. She had been about to say "You can read?" but realized how incredibly rude and condescending it would sound. He might be a creature, but he clearly had feelings. Who was she to judge whether it was unusual for someone to read or not? After all, she only read thanks to a father who was one of the few peasants that believed a woman should, or could, read.

She cleared her throat. "What _did _you like?"

He looked as baffled as he had when she'd asked about his favorite book, and made a questioning noise deep in his throat.

"I meant, if you didn't like history, was there a subject you did enjoy? Literature, philosophy, natural science…?"

"Oh." He shrugged again, an interesting sight on so massive a creature. "I never really thought about it that way. I just learned them because I had to. And then…" he swallowed. "It stopped mattering."

She had no idea what to make of _that_. She even had a hard time believing there had been someone out there to _make _him learn anything.

"Oh," she said, uncertainly.

Mrs. Potts appeared behind her Master on a rolling tray of sandwiches. "Are either of you hungry?" she asked.

"Yes, I believe I am. Thank you, Mrs. Potts," Belle answered.

The teapot's Master glanced between them, then at the sandwiches. "No," he said abruptly, and stepped around the cart to leave.

"Wait," Belle called after him again. He only turned halfway, so that all she could see was one blue eye.

"What is your name?" she asked. "I just realized I have no idea what to call you."

Mrs. Potts looked up at her Master, china eyebrows very high. He, however, did not even glance at her. Instead, he turned away. "You can just call me 'the Beast,'" he said, so low she almost missed it. He was gone before she could reply.

Mrs. Potts sighed, and served the sandwiches.

Belle hadn't realized it at the time, but that was the beginning of a ritual as she continued to recover. She would wake up, dress, and take Philippe for a walk. Then she would return to the castle to nap in the parlor. As she grew stronger, the walks grew longer and the naps shorter.

When she woke, the Beast was usually there in the doorway. The first time, Belle—wondering as she did if she had taken leave of her senses—asked him to join her. After that, the invitation was unspoken. They rarely talked—that first conversation about schoolroom subjects had been their longest. But Belle slowly became used to his presence, and he to hers. She grew less and less tense, even at first seeing him, until, incredible as it seemed, she hardly noticed his claws and fangs. She spoke to him as she did to anyone in the village, or to any of the servants. She couldn't say she got to know him any better, but at least she no longer jumped if she happened to glimpse him in the halls.

He never ate with her. Always, he left the room as Mrs. Potts brought in lunch.

She also got the sense, every time he left, that there was something he'd wanted to say and hadn't.

Finally, a week into this, Belle reached the point where she didn't need a nap after her walk. In fact, she was standing, admiring an oceanscape painting, when the Beast came in.

She turned when she heard the scrape of his claws. He'd entered walking upright, she vaguely noticed; usually when she saw him he was on all fours. She watched his eyes go to her usual spot on the couch, around the room, and then to her. More specifically, to her stomach.

Belle looked down. Her dress was green today—dark green in the bodice, and lighter in the sleeves and skirt. It brought out her eyes, Madame had said. Belle now saw it brought out something else. Or rather, something else was simply more obvious. She was well into her third month of pregnancy now, and while she didn't feel any different, the bump was ever so slightly more noticeable. She still could have hidden it, had she really wished, but now that everyone in the castle knew her state she had felt it no longer mattered. Apparently she had been wrong.

She looked back up in time to see the Beast open his mouth, and close it again.

Belle held her ground. "Is something wrong?"

He blinked. "I—no. It's just…I've been wanting to…no. Never mind."

"What is it?" Belle asked curiously. She sensed she was not going to like whatever was coming next, but felt she at least owed it to him to hear him out. He had saved her life, after all, and her sense of honor told her she hadn't repaid him fully.

"Why is it you said I had no right to judge you when I didn't know what happened to you?" he asked in a rush. She could tell the words were rehearsed, however. "Mrs. Potts wouldn't say; she said it was your story to tell."

Belle felt very cold. She should have seen this coming. He couldn't help but wonder, if he'd stopped to think about her outburst in the West Wing. Clearly he had.

"I only meant—" she started, meaning to disclaim her words, and stopped. She owed him the compete truth, no matter how painful for her. No matter if he condemned her afterwards. Just because his servants had not didn't mean the Beast would react the same.

She swallowed, and controlled her shakes. "A man from my village raped me," she said in the calmest voice she could manage. Seeing he still didn't understand, she explained, "He forced himself on me. He…he wanted to marry me; I refused him too many times. He grew—impatient. He thought I was _taunting _him; leading him on—" She stopped. Any more, and the words would never end. All the anger, the despair, the fear, would all pool out of her to puddle on the floor. She slammed the floodgates before that could happen. Now she did feel herself start to tremble as she thought about that night again, but for the first time in awhile she did not try to hide it.

She hazarded a glance at his face. He looked genuinely shocked. To her relief, there was no pity in his eyes. Only a small spark of outrage, and she knew it was not directed at her.

"I never imagined…" he finally managed. "Why was such a thing not punished?"

"_Punished?" _Belle repeated bitterly. "No. If word had gotten out, especially had it become known I conceived, I would be married to the man who violated me in a heartbeat. To preserve my honor, and shield me and the child from the shame. For our own good. Even if I fought that tradition, it would come down to his word against mine. And you yourself were more willing to believe I was a whore than the alternative."

He paced backwards as if she'd hit him. "That's not fair!" he protested, sounding like a child despite his bass growl. "I never _dreamed_—it never occurred to me—"

"Very well," Belle agreed. "Perhaps it was unfair of me to say. My point is that you judged me first, without thinking. That was what made me so angry."

He could hardly look at her. "I'm sorry…"

"Now you know." Belle was upset enough not to worry about being polite for once. Chin high, she walked past him through the door. She paused in front of him, met his eyes. The look in them deflated her anger slightly. She'd shaken him to the core.

"You are free to judge," she said quietly. Then she went out, leaving him to stare at her retreating back. She didn't go to her room; Madame would fuss if she realized how agitated Belle was. Instead, she wandered the castle aimlessly until she found a deserted room with at least one couch in it. Then she flung herself down on the couch and sobbed as she had never allowed herself to do before.

She wasn't even exactly sure why she was crying. Afterward, had she been asked, she would have used a phrase very familiar to every member of the household, from pageboy to prince: _"It's not fair."_

_

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter was also handwritten and then copied. My computer situation has improved, and I now face the daunting task of retraining myself to use the computer for casual purposes again. It's going to take some time. A pox on everyone who writes viruses. Why can't they turn their talents to getting _rid _of viruses instead?_

_Chapters will be coming relatively slowly, since I'm in uncharted waters storywise. Eventually I will catch up to various events in Beauty and the Beast, and the Enchanted Christmas as well. No, Forte will not be in this story! Belle and the Beast have enough issues without him to complicate things. However, I think some of the conversations Belle and the Beast have about the hope of Christmas are relevant, so there will be at least one holiday chapter._

_Hope you're enjoying!_

_Samoaphoenix9_


	16. Somebody to Love

**Chapter 15**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast._

The Beast wasn't sure how long he stood stunned. Belle had vanished, and he felt no need to find her. In fact, he hoped he didn't see her again until he'd sorted out his feelings.

He'd never before heard the term she'd used. _Rape._ It was an ugly short word, and the quick razor way her musical voice spat it out made it even worse. Almost worse still, his lack of understanding had forced her to elaborate. He'd been longing for her to stop after the first sentence. But he'd unleashed a flood, and she went on, talking about how the man had believed her to be taunting him, had grown impatient—the Beast wanted to cover his ears.

And then she stopped on her own. By that point, the Beast had begun to feel some indignation on her part. Had she really had no other recourse? Was there nowhere she could go to make this right, to make that man pay for ruining her?

If she was to be believed, the answer was a firm 'no.' And she was clever; he knew that. If there had been a way out, she would have found it.

That was probably what struck at him the most, though her accusation of preferring to believe her guilty hit him hard. In the end, it was not really that which bothered him, though it was galling realize how naïve he'd been. No, what really shattered him was he'd been brought up to believe justice had to prevail. Hadn't his mother been condemned for just that reason? Even the Enchantress' curse had been a punishment of sorts for not letting her in.

But here was a situation where justice had _not _prevailed, where an apparently innocent girl had been harmed and then all but blamed for the crime. And there was no choice for her but to endure, because she was a powerless peasant female.

The Beast almost frantically thought as far back as he could remember. Had there ever been a case like this in his parents' court? Not that he could recall, though of course he'd only been to court once a week. What would his father have done had this come before him?

There was no answer. He wasn't even certain he wanted to know. If tradition was already established in cases like this, with the girl simply married off to her tormentor to avoid scandal, then his father might have held with tradition rather than look further. Or maybe not. The Beast was a little startled to realize how little he knew about his father. He had spent most of his life longing to please his father, wanting to be like him, with no real idea of what that meant. He knew the Prince had had a reputation for justice, but in a situation like this, what did it all mean?

That left, of course, what to do. There was no help from his past life, and certainly none from his current one.

A slight metallic _ching _told him Lumière was near. The Beast pushed open the door a little further to find the candelabra on an end table just outside the door. A look told the Beast his _maitre d'_ had heard everything.

"Is she right, Lumière? Did she really have no other choice than marrying the man?" If anyone would know, it would be Lumière. Cogsworth paid little attention to things outside the household, and Mrs. Potts would probably refuse to answer.

"She is unfortunately correct, Master." Lumière's long-nosed face was sad. "And she is very brave to choose the path she did."

"You mean deciding not to give in and get married, or agreeing to stay here?" The Beast now saw why she might have considered changing places with her father a good option, if her other choice was to return home and marry a man who had forced himself upon her.

"Both," Lumière replied. "And we must also consider a mother's protective instinct. She may have wanted to shield her _enfant_ from the influence of his father."

"Choosing to risk me over that does not speak well for her options. Or for the child's father," the Beast said a little ruefully, glancing down at his clawed paws.

Lumière glanced at him sharply, as if he'd said something unexpected. Whatever had surprised him, he kept it to himself. His response was bland. "I suppose not, sir."

"Lumière?" the Beast asked tentatively after a few seconds. "What would…what would my father have done? About Belle."

The _maitre d'_s face went blank. "I am not sure, Master. I am not sure. Your father was a fair man, and tried to do his best by his people, but he was also a very busy man with many cares. He simply did not have time to closely investigate every case brought before him. He was also quite…traditional, shall we say? I think it likely—" He stopped.

"—he would have had her marry the man no matter what she said," the Beast finished. He heard himself sigh. "I thought so, somehow, from what little I remember about him."

"As I said, I cannot be sure," Lumière said scrupulously. "But there are other things to consider when you think of your father. You were shielded from such things because of your youth, but it is relatively common for young women jilted by former lovers to claim they were forced in order to escape responsibility for their actions, or out of desire for revenge."

"You don't think—"

"No, I have seen enough to be almost entirely certain that is not the case here. Belle has been badly hurt, and she is bitter and angry. You have seen this, I think. You have also seen how little she wishes to speak of what happened. She is not the kind to escape responsibility, not after what she did for her father. Nor do I believe she wants any sort of revenge."

"Why not?"

"Because if she were, she would be trying to persuade you, or one of us, to exact vengeance for her, since she is powerless," Lumière replied bluntly. "She has not, yes?"

"Of course not." The Beast couldn't imagine Belle doing such a thing. It just didn't seem in her nature. What little he knew of it, anyway. "She seems more resigned than anything," he mused aloud.

"_Oui_, we thought so as well," Lumière agreed. "But you see why your father would wish to be cautious."

"Yes. I think I do."

"There is one more thing." The Beast could hear clear hesitancy in Lumière's voice. Every word was careful and deliberate. "I tell you this only because it is something your father would have considered. The girl did have one option when she discovered she had conceived. There are ways to…to be rid of unwanted children before they are born. Usually with the aid of a skilled midwife or wise woman. Of course, that would only have helped her with the child, not the continued advances of her suitor."

The Beast felt nauseated. This was just as sickening as realizing a man could force himself on a woman. "But that's…that's _killing _the child," he said weakly.

"It is. I did not want to tell you of this, Master. Indeed, Mrs. Potts was of the opinion that I should not. But I feel you must know if you are to understand Belle. To do that, you must have all the facts before you, even those you do not want to hear."

"I'd have been happier not knowing. Maybe I don't want to understand the girl anymore."

"It is too late for that," Lumière said, with a trace of his usual humor returning to his voice. "After all, you asked her."

_That _annoyed the Beast. It had been his own burning curiosity that had started the discussion in the first place. He growled under his breath. Then something occurred to him.

"Why didn't she, then? Take that option you mentioned. It would have made her life easier. She could have hidden what happened, maybe run away. She might still have found a husband, one she liked."

"That is a question for her, Master."

"You're as bad as Mrs. Potts," the Beast snarled. "Why won't anyone tell me anything when I ask?"

"The girl did," Lumière reminded him innocently, though he had backed a few paces up on the table.

The Beast's growl was louder this time. Lumière leapt back, but once it was clear there was nothing further coming, he added, "I will say, Master, that the girl may have felt as you do, that to kill a child would be unbearable. But I honestly cannot tell what reason she might give. And it is useless to speculate. If you wish to know, you must ask."

"I won't make _that _mistake again," the Beast insisted. "Not after what happened this time."

Lumière shrugged. "That is entirely up to you, Master. And now, if you will excuse me, I must go to the kitchens. Shall I send Mrs. Potts out with lunch?"

"No. I want to be alone for awhile. But…send someone to find Belle and see if she's hungry."

Lumière left, and the Beast went up to the West Wing. Once there, he stalked onto the balcony to survey the landscape. No more snow had fallen for a week, so there were many patches of brown to be seen now instead of endless whiteness.

The conversation with Lumière had, surprisingly, soothed the Beast's mind somewhat. His thoughts were no longer whirling in tight little circles like a sparrow with a hurt wing. He was still upset, but at least he could begin to sort a few things out.

Belle was innocent. That at least was a relief to know. He'd been wrestling with himself all week, seeing Belle flaring up at him again. _"How dare you judge me…"_ He hated being wrong, normally, but the more he'd seen of the girl, the harder time he had seeing her as a jaded seductress. She was straightforward whenever she had something to say, which wasn't often. She'd look right at him if he spoke, as if she were truly interested. She had adjusted to the way he looked, and to the servants, amazingly quickly.

And she clearly needed a place of sanctuary to have her child. The castle was as cut off from the outside world as one could get. Now that he knew some of what had happened to her, the Beast found he had no objections to having her around. The servants had certainly taken to her, he thought with a wry smile. They would work hard to make certain the girl was as comfortable as possible.

As for his original hopes for her? They were in shambles. Belle could have sanctuary, but he could not see himself coming to love her. She was a ruined woman, carrying another man's child. That, and he already knew far more about her than he was comfortable with; he wanted nothing more.

Yes, he kept occasionally having physical reactions to her. But they were mild, and easily dismissed. He'd kept them to himself without much difficulty. He doubted even worldly, sharp-eyed Lumière or disturbingly observant Mrs. Potts had noticed. Cogsworth, of course, would remain in blissful oblivion. Lucky him.

And Belle herself? The Beast sighed, regretful despite his resolve. She _was _pretty, after all, and she seemed kind. But he could hardly expect her to love him. Not with everything else she had on her plate. A baby on the way, and a terror in her past that nothing would erase. He wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to look at a man again after being forced, let alone a creature like him. There was no chance at all, and certainly not with the short amount of time he had left. A glance at the rose was all he needed to confirm that. The situation was hopeless.

That resolved, the Beast paused. It was only then he realized he'd been pacing. Despite sorting out what to do about Belle, he was still very disturbed by all he'd learned that day. Once again, the girl had managed to completely turn his world on its head simply by existing.

He wished she'd stop it.

The rest of the day he spent in the West Wing, deep in thought. Finally, just before the last rays of the sun vanished, he concluded that the next time he saw Belle he would act as if nothing had changed. She was still a guest—well, prisoner—who had saved his life. He was still a Beast who had saved hers. They wouldn't exactly avoid each other, but the castle was big enough that they wouldn't have to see one another often. Once the child was born, things might change, but the Beast wasn't ready to think about that yet. For now, this was how things would be.

Belle kept to herself for the next few days. She still walked her horse in the mornings and she and the Beast still met in the parlor afterwards, but these meetings were usually very brief and completely silent. It was now always Belle who left first.

"She's uncertain. Give her more time," Mrs. Potts said when the Beast asked her if Belle was feeling sick again. Which was not an answer.

Three mornings later, the Beast happened to glance out his window in time to see Belle trotting slowly on her horse's back in the courtyard below. He hadn't seen her ride since the day she'd run away. Drawn for some reason, he went out on his balcony to watch.

She did not go very far, or ride very fast. Instead, she put her horse through paces as if they were in a riding ring. The massive horse might have been bred as a cart horse, but he was clearly trained for riding as well. The Beast wondered whether Belle herself had trained him. She was obviously a good horsewoman, from what he could tell.

Lumière and Cogsworth found him there.

"_Oh la la_, what a sight, no?" grinned Lumière.

The Beast glared at him. "I wasn't watching her. I was thinking how long it's been since I've seen anyone ride a horse like that."

"It has been many years," agreed Cogsworth. "The girl is exceptionally accomplished at horsemanship."

"She is also devoted to her horse," Lumière added. "She insists upon caring for him herself when she brings him back to the stable."

"What else does she do with her day?" the Beast asked curiously. He knew what _he _did, and he had a pretty good idea of the daily routines of the servants. Belle had no such routine.

"She usually explores the castle, and sometimes the grounds," Cogsworth informed him. Of course the clock would know; he'd see it as his duty to make certain the girl did not need anything during her day. "She has visited each of the staff who is unable to move, and is making an effort to address everyone by name."

"But there are at least a hundred servants," the Beast recalled. He knew them all by sound, but even he could not remember all the names of the feather dusters and other knickknacks.

"Indeed," Cogsworth replied. The head of household sounded annoyingly pleased that his Master had been able to deduce this. The Beast bit back an irritated rumble.

"Perhaps the girl is bored," suggested Lumière. "Not that learning everyone's name is not admirable, but she will eventually come to the end of such a project."

The Beast had not lived with these two for the better part of his life and not learned to recognize when they were leading up to something. It was better to see what they had in mind and get it over with rather than let them continue to dance hints around him. Then he could decide whether to act on it or not. "What do you suggest?" he asked resignedly.

Lumière and Cogsworth exchanged satisfied glances, and the Beast suppressed a sigh. He was really in for it this time.

"Master, do you remember that the girl likes to read?" asked Lumière.

_

* * *

_

Author's Note: I think my favorite part of this chapter is how the Beast's shock at Belle's story has unconsciously changed him. He's now starting to think about how

she _might see things rather than focusing on his own point of view. Belle's plight has begun to shake him out of his selfishness, and he has no idea! ::grin::_

_This chapter was also an opportunity not only to have the Beast interact more with the servants, primarily Lumière (to whom he seems the most close in the movies), but also to have them discuss some pre-curse things in a "safe" manner. The Beast as a young Prince looked up to his father so much, and feels such conflict about what happened to his mother; it would inevitably come up. There also comes a point where we as sons and daughters have to realize our parents aren't perfect and don't have the correct answers to every problem. That time has finally come for the Beast. A bit late at almost 25, but it had to happen. ;)_

_As you've probably guessed, the next chapter will have the library scene, though of course much altered. After that comes Christmas! I figure it will be December in our world by then anyway, so perfect timing._

_(Gory) Historical Note: In case you're wondering, abortion is not an issue that has popped up in recent years due to advances in medical technology. Practices of abortion and infanticide of unwanted children are ancient and appear in just about every culture I know of. I know everyone has their own personal opinion on this topic and I won't give mine (please don't give yours in any reviews), but I did want to say that it would have been an option for Belle in this time period. She knows that, and I plan to have her give her opinion later, when she and the Beast are really starting to trust each other. If I accidentally forget (this plot isn't set in stone at the moment), remind me._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	17. Getting to Know You

**Chapter 16**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast._

"Uh, Belle?"

Belle turned around, and there he was. The Beast. She wasn't exactly pleased to see him; she'd been avoiding him as much as possible without being rude in the past few days. She told herself she was giving him time to think, but if she were really honest she had to admit she feared what he might say. Or do.

Now, looking at him, she thought her worries had probably been unfounded. There was no concealed malice or disgust in his face as he looked at her. She only read uncertainty in his eyes.

"Yes?" she asked.

He blinked, as if surprised she'd answered rather than just walked away. "How are you, um, feeling?"

"Why, fine." She hesitated. "Thank you for asking."

If anything, he looked even more awkward. "I…ah, that's good."

"I hope you're well?" Belle asked, determined to return his friendly gesture, no matter his motives.

"Yes. Yes, I am." He cleared his throat. "You ride very well."

"You were watching me yesterday?" Belle wasn't sure how she felt about this.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I happened to see you when you started. It was an accident. But you're very good at riding. Did you train your horse yourself?"

"No," Belle admitted despite her surprise. "We bought Philippe trained for both riding and pulling. He was a compromise between my parents—Papa needed help carrying his inventions, and Maman wanted—" She stopped. This was starting to stray into painful territory, and she had no idea why she was telling him any of this. "Never mind." She spread her hands. "Philippe and I have been together a long time; we know each other pretty well by now. And he's so sweet and easy to handle, despite his size. Anyone would be safe on his back."

"I don't know about _anyone_," he responded.

Belle stared at him, completely taken aback. Either he was far more literal-minded than she'd guessed, or he'd just made a joke. Possibly at his own expense. The way his eyes were narrowed slightly at the corners made her think it was the latter.

Belle felt the corners of her own mouth creep up. She even managed not to think about his teeth when he smiled shyly back. Then she blinked and shook her head slightly. "Did you come to talk to me about something?"

"Why would you think that?"

The slight defensive growl in his voice told her she was right. "I just guessed. You had an air of purpose about you."

"I did want to ask you something."

"Of course." After baring her soul the last time he'd had a question, she felt ready for anything he might ask.

"I've got something to show you first. Will you come with me for a minute?"

Belle eyed him suspiciously. Then she scolded herself mentally for her suspicion. If he'd wanted to harm her in any way, he would have done so a long time ago. He'd had ample opportunity. "Of course."

Immediately, he swept his cloak around him and left the room. Belle followed. He took much bigger steps than she, and she was soon far behind despite her best efforts to trot. Belle knew if he got out of sight she'd never find him; she was still a long way from committing the castle's corridors to memory.

She rounded a corner and nearly ran into him. He'd been waiting for her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I went too fast," he admitted, by way of apology. "I didn't realize. I'll be more careful from now on."

"Thank you," Belle replied. They set off again, this time side-by-side. The Beast was walking on two legs instead of four again today, Belle noticed with interest. In fact, in most of the times she'd seen him in the past few days, he'd been upright. Looking more closely, Belle also saw that he was also wearing a shirt today, something she'd never seen before.

"What?" He'd caught her looking, and he sounded annoyed.

"I…I was just admiring your shirt. I like that color of cream."

"Oh." He plucked embarrassedly at a sleeve. "Lumière suggested it. I'd forgotten how uncomfortable shirts are. They pull my fur in strange ways."

Belle made a noise that she hoped was sympathetic. In fact, she was trying not to imagine what a shirt against so much thick fur must feel like. She had to agree with the Beast, it sounded quite uncomfortable.

They turned a corner into a hall Belle was certain she'd never seen before, not even on the tour with Cogsworth and Lumière. It was relatively narrow, and filled with sunlight from several tall windows. Surprisingly, there were no gargoyles or leering faces to be seen. "Where are we?" she asked, puzzled.

"You'll see," the Beast answered mysteriously. Belle considered refusing to move another step until she was told what was going on, but discarded the idea as childish. Again, she consoled herself with the notion that if the Beast had intended to do something awful to her all along, he'd have done it before now.

"Come on." The Beast beckoned her with a claw. He led her to a set of closed double doors, which, when opened, revealed a darkened room. Belle squinted, but she couldn't make anything out within. Was it windowless, or were the window drapes just very heavy?

The Beast strode purposefully inside. Belle trailed after him, still trying to see around her. Here and there were stabs of bright sunlight, but they were so thin and concentrated that they weren't useful for seeing anything. They also seemed to be impossibly far away, like oddly lengthened stars against a night sky.

Belle bumped into something and stifled a gasp. Her fingers felt grained wood, and as they explored more, she recognized the back of a chair.

"Beast?" she called, uncertainly, and jumped. Her voice had echoed, like it did in the vast entrance hall.

"Still here," he called back. "Hold on. And you should probably shut your eyes. The sun might hurt once I open the curtains."

Belle did as instructed, just in time. There was a shuffling sound, and light streamed in. She kept her eyes shut and just listened as her eyes adjusted behind their lids. Her ears detected the Beast's claws on marble floors, another shuffle, another influx of light. She hazarded cracking one eye. The sun did hurt, but her eye quickly grew used to it. She opened the other, and waited for the dazzle to pass. The light grew brighter still as the Beast pulled back another curtain.

Belle gripped the back of the chair as her eyes registered what they were seeing. The reason the pinpoints of light from the covered windows had seemed far away was because they were. The room was huge; she'd never seen another like it outside the great sanctuary in the Notre Dame de Paris cathedral. But this cathedral was even more wonderous: it was filled from floor to ceiling with books. Books were tucked into every possible niche in the room imaginable, except for the space left for the tall, narrow windows letting light from all directions.

"Oh…" Belle breathed, putting a hand to her chest. "_Oh_…"

The Beast came padding up to her. "What do you think?" He sounded nervous for some reason.

"Is this real?" Belle asked. Her voice came out breathless and squeaky.

"Of course. Where did you think I got your book when you were sick?"

"I never imagined…I pictured a room with a few shelves of scholarly works. All the libraries I've ever seen look like that. But this…I've never seen so many books in all my life. I think I may faint."

Immediately he looked worried, and took a hesitant step closer. "You won't, will you?"

"No, I don't think so." Belle fanned herself lightly with one hand, the other resting on the small bulge that was her baby. "But I feel like a child at Christmastide. I don't know where to look first." She glanced at the expression on his face, and couldn't suppress a laugh. "You were going to catch me if I fainted, weren't you?"

He nodded. "I was afraid you'd get hurt."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to faint. I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed."

"Good."

Belle was glad neither of them would have to find out what would have happened if she'd fainted. She wasn't sure how she'd feel about being carried by him, even if she were senseless when it happened. From the looks of him, he was thinking the same thing, in reverse.

He swept an arm out to indicate the room. "Do you like it?"

"It's wonderful. I could spend the rest of my life in here and still not read it all. How do you keep track of everything?"

The Beast cleared his throat. "It turns out, we don't. Cogsworth has informed me there hasn't been an official librarian here for at least a generation."

"That's awful!" Belle couldn't imagine the disarray the books might have fallen into in such a time.

"Things are still in a general sort of order. You'll see if you take a closer look. Subjects are still grouped together, for the most part. I think. The books don't really get moved around a lot. But nothing's organized, and…"

"You want me to do it?" Belle finished, trying to conceal her hope.

"If you think it's too much work, especially with…" the Beast trailed off, glancing at her stomach. Belle caught his meaning.

"Of course not! I'll work in here right up until the baby comes, if I have to!" Belle looked around enthusiastically. "I can start right now."

"Then do with this place exactly what you want. Think of it as yours, right down to controlling who comes and goes, if you wish." The Beast gestured at the shelves.

"Oh, thank you!" While she was still so happy she wouldn't think about it, she reached out and took one of the Beast's paws in her two hands. "Really, thank you. You've given me something beyond my wildest dreams. It's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in…my whole life. This is more than I ever dared hope for."

He looked at the paw, and then at her. She could tell he was considering pulling it back. Instead, to her surprise, he relaxed a little. "Don't thank me. It wasn't really my idea. The servants thought you might be getting bored with learning their names." He smiled a little. "They said you needed a project."

"I'll remember to thank them, too. I'd been wondering what I was going to do with myself. Everyone else seems to have jobs to keep them busy. They make time if I want to talk, but I always feel like I'm in the way."

The Beast nodded thoughtfully. Belle noticed at some point he'd taken his paw back from her hands. "I've never had words for it, but I've felt the same way for most of my life." He snorted softly. "In theory, their lives revolve around me, as their Master. But they don't seem to have time for _me_ all that often. Does that make any sense?"

"I understand." Belle did, too. The servants were nice, and she liked them all a great deal, but they always had important tasks to do with running the household. Belle hated to keep them busy when she just wanted company. It seemed petty, somehow. "You get lonely," she said, half to herself.

"Yes," he replied, so quietly she almost didn't hear him. Belle looked at him with a lot more sympathy than she'd ever expected to feel for her captor. Ten years of being isolated. Surrounded by people—in a way—yet completely alone. She knew how that felt, only too well. She wondered how he'd borne it for so long.

She blinked, and found he was almost out the library doors. "Where are you going?" Belle asked, completely puzzled. Had he been offended by what she'd said?

"I thought you wanted to get started," the Beast replied. "You don't need me for that."

"Oh, but—" Belle halted. For some reason, she'd assumed he would stay around while she worked. Now that seemed silly. They'd never spent more than an hour together in a day before. Why should she expect that to change? Surely he had other ways of occupying his time. After ten years, he'd have to. Still, something made her blurt, "What are you planning on doing next?"

He thought a moment. "I don't know. I'll probably go up to the West Wing and pace for an hour or so."

Belle laughed, then stopped at the snarling curl of his lips. "You were serious," she realized with some horror and amazement, one hand flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I didn't mean to be cruel." She swallowed. "Are you…do you spend a lot of your time in the West Wing?"

"Most of it," he snapped.

"Oh." Belle bit her lip. "Well, would you mind staying to help me, then? I'd appreciate it. And I'd like the company."

"I don't think I'd be much help." The Beast held up his massive paws. "These are more built for destroying books than paging through them."

Belle could tell he was working into a temper. She was tempted to tell him he could go pace his anger off and she'd handle things without him, but knew that to be the coward's way out. "You never know until you try," she answered calmly.

He folded his arms. "And if I try and it doesn't work?"

"Then we've learned something. And we'll have to use our heads to find ways for you to help. Deciding you can't and giving up before trying is a sure way to fail." Belle folded her own arms.

He stared at her. She could see the fur rising a little on the hackles of his neck and braced herself for a roar. His eyes went up and down her determined form, and he seemed to deflate. "Where do you want to start?" he asked sulkily.

Belle pointed to a set of shelves at random. "There's as good a place as any." She set off determinedly towards the chosen shelf, with the Beast trailing behind. Once there, she selected a book and handed it to him. He stared it as if he'd never seen a book before.

"Open it," Belle urged. The Beast hesitated, then, using his claws very delicately, he took the book's cover and flipped it open. He stared at the frontspiece in confusion, then dropped the book to the floor. Belle jumped at the echoing crash.

"What's wrong?"

"I—I can't." He turned and started stalking towards the doors.

"Wait!" Belle ran after him, reached up and gripped his shoulder. At that moment, she didn't even consider her own danger.

He spun around. "Leave me alone. I can't!"

"Can't what?"

"The letters. They're all…funny. They don't look like words anymore!"

"That doesn't sound right." Now that she was fairly sure he wouldn't leave, Belle went back and picked up the dropped book. She read the cover, and had to wait a moment to still her own beating heart.

_Arthur and Guinevere. _A copy more luxurious than any she'd ever held before, but it was the same beloved story.

She turned slowly back. "Here, try again."

He took the book, squinted at the cover, then tried to hand it back. "Really, I can't. The letters don't make any sense anymore."

"I don't understand. You used to be able to read?"

He nodded.

"If I can ask, how long as it been since you tried?"

"Uh…" He looked upward as he tried to remember. "At least eleven years. Maybe more."

Belle struggled to contain her horror. She couldn't imagine not reading for so long. Such a poor reaction would not help him; it would just make him feel worse. "Maybe you've just forgotten what the letters look like, since it's been so long."

"I can't help you with the library then. I'll see you tomorrow, Belle. I'm glad you like the library."

"Don't go yet. You just need to remember. I'll help you. We can start today, right now if you want."

"What about the library?"

"It can wait."

"Why would I want to read? I never needed it before," he grumbled.

"If I'd had to read nothing but books like the one you gave me, I might agree with you," Belle smiled. "You've never seen the world of books like I have. They can take you to exciting places you never dreamed existed."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving.

"I'll show you." She reached out and took the book from him. "This is one of my favorites."

He took a step backwards, still shaking his head.

"I'll make you a deal," Belle coaxed. "I will read the first chapter of this book aloud to you. If at the end of the chapter you don't want me to read any more, then I won't mention re-learning to read again. If you want to keep going, however, then I'll help you read the next chapter yourself. We'll go from there. How does that sound?"

He hesitated a long moment. Then he sighed. "Oh, all right." His tone said clearly he expected to regret it.

"You'll like it, I promise," Belle said eagerly. "Come on, let's sit down." She led him over to a large couch by a fireplace. He sat delicately, as if afraid it would collapse under him. Even after Belle sat as well, he still perched on the very edge of the cushion. Belle elected to ignore this and hope he'd relax as the story went.

She opened the book and turned reverently to the first page. There was a reason she'd bet the Beast would want to continue: the first chapter ended with the death of King Uther, Arthur's father, putting baby Prince Arthur's life in uncertain jeopardy. Things were resolved in the next chapter with Arthur growing up safely in the house of a poor but loyal knight called Sir Ector, under the wise guardianship of Wizard Merlin. However, the Beast wouldn't know that. Belle felt a little cruel, but she told herself it was for a good cause. He'd never experienced how much fun reading could be. Maybe he'd even be less lonely, if he met the friends she'd found hidden in the pages of books.

She wondered briefly what she was getting into. A part of her still argued she should want nothing to do with her captor, after all the cruel things he'd done to her. A larger part wondered what had happened in his past to make him like that. His cruelties, in hindsight, seemed almost…unwitting. As if he didn't know any better. And there seemed to be something more to him, something underneath, buried beneath years of anger and loneliness.

Maybe she didn't know what she was getting into. But she did have a sense that somehow, she was doing the right thing.

She began to read.

* * *

_Author's Note: I think I may have to have another chapter between now and the Christmas stuff. There are some things about this library situation that need resolving. I usually start out with a general idea of what I want to happen in a chapter, and let the characters decide how it will all play out. In this case, they wanted to linger. Now that their first major issue is resolved (for the most part), they are faced with reluctantly getting to know one another. It's still going to be awkward for awhile._

_Hope everyone Stateside had a happy Thanksgiving!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	18. Stories

**Chapter 17**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

"Why did she do it?" asked the Beast.

"What?" asked Belle, a little startled. They had just finished another session with _Arthur and Guinevere._ It had taken about two weeks to get through what usually took Belle a day or two, but she was pleased nonetheless. Not only had the Beast agreed to continue reading the book after the first chapter, but he had been progressing nicely since then. At first he had needed help to simply interpret the letters. Then, he'd moved on to asking Belle the pronunciation and meaning of words. That decreased daily, and she could sense his growing eagerness each time he opened the book.

It helped that there was never a dull moment in _Arthur and Guinevere_. Belle occasionally took over reading when she sensed the Beast was getting frustrated with his own slowness, and she'd happened to be reading when Arthur pulled the magical sword from the stone that proclaimed him King of All England.

The Beast had actually exclaimed aloud: "So that must mean he's the King!"

"Wait and see!" Belle had said with a laugh. "I'll never finish if you interrupt."

The Beast blinked, and seemed to collect himself. "I'm sorry. I just…I never imagined books could do that."

"Do what?"

"Take me away from here, if only for a moment. All the books I ever had to read were boring, and I never got much out of them. When you read, it's like I'm really there, watching it."

"A good book will do that," Belle had said. "And I know what you mean. Stories like this one have kept me company for years, especially since we moved to the village. When I made mistakes, no one would speak to me for days. I'd get so lonely, but all I'd have to do was open a book and be somewhere else in a flash."

"I wish I'd known," the Beast had said wistfully. "It would have made living here more bearable."

"Things will get better now that you do know," Belle had promised. She waited a moment, until the Beast gestured impatiently for her to continue. Then she turned back to the book.

"Then, for the third time, Arthur drew forth the sword. And there arose from the people a great shout: "Arthur is King!""

"I told you," the Beast had said smugly. They'd smiled at each other, and continued reading.

Now, at the end of November, the Beast had apparently progressed enough not only to enjoy what they were reading, but to ask questions about it too.

"Why did she do what?" asked Belle.

"Why did Guinevere give Sir Gawain the chance to redeem himself after he…" He swallowed visibly.

"He raped a peasant girl," Belle finished for him.

"Yes. Why did the queen give him a second chance? He didn't deserve it. He deserved to die, just like the law said."

"Hmmm," said Belle. As it happened, she'd given a lot of thought to this after Gaston had forced himself on her. The story had suddenly hit in a new context. "I'm not sure, but I have a theory: it's because he didn't even realize he'd made a mistake until Arthur told him what the law was. It would be like punishing someone who'd never been taught table manners for eating with his hands. He'd have to understand why he was wrong before the punishment could work."

"But why punish Gawain at all, then?"

"The law was still there, demanding justice for the girl. He had to be taught to honor any woman he encountered, to make sure he would never do such a thing again. Beheading him would solve that problem, too, of course, but it's rather permanent."

The Beast looked away sharply. Belle could sense some sort of buried pain, but couldn't begin to imagine the source.

"I could be wrong. As I said, it's just a theory," she admitted, hoping he wasn't angry with her. "It might also be that Guinevere wanted to show mercy because underneath her exterior of a spoiled princess she was a kindhearted person and felt sorry for Gawain despite what he'd done."

"Giving Gawain an impossible riddle wasn't that kind," the Beast pointed out. "She couldn't know he'd find the answer. What if he'd failed, and had to come back and get executed anyway?"

Belle thought for a moment or two. "My answer isn't really a satisfactory one. In stories like this, when someone is given a test, if they're meant to succeed, they will. If the person is truly worthy, a magical force of some kind usually appears at the last minute to make sure everything works out, or turns out to have been guiding the quest all along from the background. Guinevere may or may not have been an unwitting agent in the larger story of Gawain's redemption."

"You mean she might have done it on purpose?"

"Who knows?" Belle shrugged. "That's part of the mystery of the story. Arthur and Guinevere were advised by Merlin, and he's clearly connected somehow with the magical Loathly Lady who appears at the last minute to give Gawain the answer to the riddle. Whether or not Merlin spoke to Guinevere on Gawain's behalf beforehand is something we can only guess at."

The Beast shook his head. "It would have been easier to just behead Gawain and be done with it. Less of a headache for everyone. Including me."

"Easier, maybe. But would that have been the right thing to do in the long run? He turns out to be worthy in the end, once he's learned his lesson and passed the Loathly Lady's final test. Beheading him in the beginning would deprive the world of the good man and noble knight Gawain became because he was given a second chance." She smiled. "It would also deprive us of an exciting story."

"Hmph," rumbled the Beast, but mildly enough that Belle could tell he was thinking hard rather than annoyed.

"It's still a headache," he complained after a moment. "Not everybody is worthy enough to deserve a second chance like Gawain. How do you tell?"

"You don't," said Belle. "Unless you can see into the future like Merlin. We more ordinary mortals just have to do our best."

"See into the future…" the Beast repeated under his breath.

"What?" asked Belle.

"Hmmm? Oh. You just reminded me of something, that's all." He studied his clawed paws intently for a moment, as if trying to work out a hard puzzle, then shook his mane like a dog. "Never mind. It's not important."

"If you say so." Belle stood up to stretch. She had to be careful. Now over four months into her pregnancy, the baby was having some effect on her balance. Belle didn't feel heavy or awkward—not yet. She just found herself tipping faster than usual if she twisted the wrong way. There was also no hiding her pregnancy anymore, no matter what clothes she wore. Mrs. Potts said this was because she'd been so slender to begin with.

Belle wandered over to one of the library's enormous windows. It was snowing again outside, and even a fire in the huge fireplace couldn't entirely ward off the chill. The landscape outside was beautiful, with the dark pine trees beginning to be dusted with white, but it still filled Belle with a slight sense of foreboding.

Quiet moments like this one inevitably made her think of her father. On snowy days they both would have been doing indoor things, only going outside when it was absolutely necessary. Belle would read by the fire, and her father would sit at the table near her quietly muttering over some small mechanism he was attempting to fix. What was he doing without her? Was he thinking of her, as she was of him?

Now, on this particular snowy day, she had the Beast instead of her father. The Beast, who was not such a bad companion in his own way. If someone had told Belle at the beginning of their acquaintance that she would ever value the Beast's company, she would have said that person was crazy. Yet they had been seeing a great deal of one another in the past few weeks. Mostly in the library as they sorted books and Belle helped him re-learn to read, but at other times as well. The Beast still avoided Belle at mealtimes, and in turn she never sought him out if she suspected he was in the West Wing. Any other time they might bump into each other, however, they'd converse for a few minutes, maybe walk the halls together, and then mutually part.

One of the best things about the Beast, Belle thought, was the way he really listened to her. Unless he was angry, at which times he was prone to shouting anyone else down, he always gave her his full attention if she had something to say. Belle found this unexpectedly refreshing. Gaston had certainly never heard a word she'd spoken, ever, and most of the villagers made polite conversation without really paying attention to anything but the familiar pattern of the words. Even her father, much as she loved him, always seemed to have his mind someplace else when she wanted to talk.

The Beast, however, would look right at her during a conversation. He was straightforward. He'd respond to the things she said, and not just what he thought she'd been _going_ to say. Belle hadn't realized how much she would enjoy this seemingly simple thing. In turn, Belle tried not to keep conversations entirely focused on herself. The Beast wasn't very comfortable with talking—he seemed to not much care for the sound of his own voice. However, if he were to momentarily forget this aversion, as had happened in their conversation about Gawain, then he often surprised her with how intelligently he could speak. He was no scholar, of course, but his insights were thoughtful and carefully considered. Belle would admit only to herself how much she liked talking to him.

She turned to find the Beast watching her. He was still on the couch where she'd left him.

"Just watching the snow," she said.

"I didn't want to disturb you. You looked very…relaxed," he replied.

Belle looked down and realized she had one hand resting gently on the baby. She'd been catching herself doing this more and more frequently as the bump grew. Every time, she'd feel a rush of affection and protectiveness. This child was _hers_, no matter how he had been conceived. A little person growing inside her. Putting her hand on him was a reassurance that no matter what, he was wanted, and loved.

She glanced back at the snow, and something occurred to her. "Only a few weeks until Christmas."

"I know," the Beast snapped from behind her.

Belle spun reflexively at the anger in his voice. His hackles were straight up, something she hadn't seen in some time. "What's wrong?"

"I _hate _Christmas," he snarled.

"_Why?_" Belle was horrified. She loved the Christmas season—it was her favorite time of year. Somehow the thought of someone hating Christmas was even more distressing than not reading for a decade. Perhaps because even the illiterate people she knew liked Christmastide.

"I just do." He was getting angrier by the second, but Belle was comfortable enough with him by now to press the issue.

"You don't like decorating? Hanging stockings by the fire? A Christmas tree? Giving gifts?"

"No." His voice was flat. "There is no Christmas here. I've forbidden it."

Belle was flabbergasted. "But you can't—"

"That's my final word! I won't hear another mention of Christmas again, do you understand?" He swung his cloak around and stalked out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the closest windowpanes.

Belle stood stunned for several minutes. She'd never imagined such a reaction. And to Christmas! No one she knew hated Christmas. Even the most hard-hearted person she could think of, Gaston, celebrated the season in fine style by decorating the tavern with greenery and buying rounds of drinks for his friends.

And now this…explosion. An outpouring of fury for no reason she could fathom—and the Beast had made it clear he wouldn't tell her. Every time she thought she was getting to know him, he did something unexpected.

She wondered if the servants shared their Master's opinion of Christmas. She'd start with them. Maybe they'd be a little more receptive to the idea of a celebration, and, with luck, shed some light on the Beast's reaction in the process. In any case, Belle had no intention of following orders and dropping the subject.

"No one can forbid Christmas," she said under her breath.

_

* * *

Author's Note: So I know I said the chapter after this would be Christmas, but the opportunity to introduce the subject came up and I took it. This is a pretty short chapter anyway—there were just some loose ends that needed to be tied up. That, and I didn't want to skip from early November to Christmas in the storyline. Belle and the Beast needed to grow their relationship a little more before then._

_This chapter got really philosophical on me. I expected it to just be a discussion about how what happened to Belle compared to what was happening in the book. Somehow the Beast's mother's execution, and the Enchantress cursing the Beast himself, got in there too. My fake version of King Arthur is turning out to be way more useful that I ever imagined!_

_BTW, if you're curious, the story of Sir Gawain and the Loathly Lady is really part of Arthurian canon (I didn't make it up). Chaucer has a version of it in _Canterbury Tales _(The Wife of Bath's Tale), and there are lots of other versions. It's actually a Beauty and the Beast variation, where a man is forced to marry a hideous woman, and when he proves his faithfulness to her despite her looks, she becomes beautiful. The version I've (mostly) used as a reference in this chapter is actually a retelling that I wrote several years ago, which in turn is based on the Chaucer version. If you want to read my version, which tells the story from the perspectives of both Gawain and the lady, go to and search for my penname, SamoaPhoenix. The story is titled "The Knight's and Lady's Tale." If you want the Chaucer version, Google "The Wife of Bath's Tale." It's in the public domain, so a full-text version should be available._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	19. Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming

**Chapter 18**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast. Or any other story I might reference in this work._

The Beast was walking down a corridor when he heard it. A woman's voice raised in song, echoing down the corridors.

"Lo, how a rose e'er blooming, from tender stem hath sprung…"

The voice was Belle's. The Beast had never heard her sing before, though he should have guessed she would have a lovely voice. Her speaking voice was very musical; he'd noticed this early on in their acquaintance. He stopped to listen. The tune was haunting enough, and the words made him chilly. He thought he recognized the song from his childhood, but he couldn't remember when, or who had been singing.

"…it came a flow'ret bright, amid the cold of winter when half-spent was the night..."

Slowly, the Beast padded forward, following the music. Another voice joined Belle's, and the Beast recognized Madame's operatic style. He had to admit they sounded good together, with Belle's slightly lower voice forming a pretty harmony while Madame sang the tune Belle had originally begun with.

"O Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air, dispel in glorious splendor the darkness everywhere…"

He rounded a corner to find a gathered audience. Lumière, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, Chip, Babette, and several other servants were clustered outside the door to Belle's room. Lumière had his eyes closed in rapture, and even Cogsworth seemed entranced. Most of the servants jumped when their Master appeared, but the Beast waved at them to relax. At least, that was what he intended the gesture to mean. Instead, most of the lesser staff scattered, presumably back to their tasks.

The Beast opened his mouth to call after them, then shut it. There was no point. Besides, it would let Belle and Madame know they had all been eavesdropping.

"I didn't mean for them to go," he whispered to Lumière, Mrs. Potts, Chip, and Cogsworth, who had stayed.

"It's all right, Master," Mrs. Potts whispered back. "We knew what you meant. They just don't know you as well as we do."

_And they're frightened of me, _the Beast thought bitterly.

"Why are we all whispering?" asked Cogsworth in a normal voice.

Belle poked her head out the door. She flushed a little. "Oh, hello. I didn't know everyone was here. I hope you weren't waiting for me?"

"Nice going, Cogsworth," Lumière said.

"Oh…ah," muttered Cogsworth, finally catching on.

"We were just…" Mrs. Potts began, but the Beast cut her off.

"We heard you and Madame singing, and came to listen. There's no harm in being honest with her," he added to Mrs. Potts. Turning back to Belle, he said, "Your song was very pretty. And you sing…nice." Lately he had been finding himself tongue-tied around Belle, especially when trying to compliment her.

"Thank you," answered Belle composedly. "I'll tell Madame you said so, if she's not listening."

"No need," came Madame's voice from behind her. "Thank you ever so much for the compliment, Master."

The Beast nodded curtly at her over Belle's shoulder. "What's that song called?"

"It's called 'Lo, How a Rose.' It's a wonderful old Christmas carol," said Belle before Madame could reply.

Christmas again! It had been nearly two weeks since Belle had first brought up the subject, and he had thought the matter was over. Apparently she hadn't given up, as he had hoped.

He snarled. Instead of stepping backwards, Belle met his gaze coolly. Snorting with frustration, the Beast whirled around and stalked back down the corridor towards the West Wing.

This was the disadvantage of_ not_ having people afraid of you, he decided grumpily as he went. They didn't automatically do what you said. Belle knew him too well by now; well enough to realize that no matter how annoyed he got, he would never actually harm her.

That was an interesting thought in itself. In the past, even in the years before he became a Beast, he hadn't particularly noticed or cared if he hurt anyone else. Something had happened to him, or more precisely had been happening to him, since Belle arrived. He thought about such things now; he even worried sometimes if he thought he'd said something to hurt Belle's feelings. It had come on so gradually that he had only just noticed he was doing it.

But it was true. Even the thought of harming Belle in any way, or her child for that matter, made him feel…well, he didn't like it. It didn't even bear considering.

He reached the West Wing, and couldn't stop himself from picking up the mirror.

"Show me the girl."

As usual, the mirror flashed, and cleared. Belle sat on her bed, chin dejectedly in the palm of one hand. The other hand rested on her stomach. Madame leaned over, taking up an entire side of the mirror's surface. Lumière and Cogsworth stood on Belle's night table, and Mrs. Potts and Chip were on the bed beside the girl.

"…why I bother," Belle was saying. "I've never met anyone who dislikes Christmas. I thought his mind could be changed, but…" She sighed.

"He has his reasons," Cogsworth said delicately. "I know I've said this before, but I will caution you again, mademoiselle. Yuletide is a very painful subject for the Master. It may be best to leave him alone. He has forbidden Christmas in the castle because he does not wish to be reminded of the past."

"And I've told you before, no one can forbid Christmas, not even him," Belle replied. "It comes every year whether we want it to or not. I don't see any point in pretending it doesn't."

"Unwind for once, Cogsworth," Lumière admonished. "I agree with the girl. We have to do something. Things cannot continue as they are."

"Yes, they can," muttered the Beast, though he knew none of them could hear him.

"Come on, love," encouraged Mrs. Potts, unaware of her Master's resentful comment. "Don't you remember how we used to celebrate Christmas? Decorations everywhere, enormous fires burning, the entire staff singing while they worked. Half the countryside would turn up for Christmas Mass and the feast afterwards."

"Ah, yes, the feast." Even Cogsworth appeared to have gotten nostalgic at this.

"We all used to be at our very best at Christmastime," sighed Mrs. Potts. "Not a frown on anyone's face, despite all the extra work."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that again," Lumière put in. He, too, sounded dreamy.

"So it's worth the effort," said Belle, as if summing everything up.

"Oh, I suppose," grumbled Cogsworth. "How do I get talked into these things?"

"So we really are going to have a Christmas this year?" asked Chip eagerly.

"Maybe," answered Belle. "We can't make any promises yet. There's still a lot to do before Christmas gets here."

"I can't wait! Let's get started." Chip bounced out of the room. Mrs. Potts shook her head at him and followed.

"It won't be as easy as the boy makes it sound, _chérie, _though I admire his enthusiasm," Lumière cautioned Belle.

"I know," Belle answered. "Persuading the Beast to even hear me out won't be easy. But I could use a little of Chip's enthusiasm." She smiled, oblivious of the teeth being bared in her direction from the other side of the castle. "Mrs. Potts' talk of fires burning reminded me of something. Do you think anyone would mind if I paid a visit to the boiler room today?"

"Of course not," Lumière assured her. "But what…" His voice faded as the Beast put the mirror down.

He knew of the time to which the servants had all been referring. Those were the years before his mother died. Then, he had looked forward to Christmas like any happy child. After the princess's execution, however, Christmas was only a reminder that she was not there. Things had worsened after his father's death. No one came to visit the castle and celebrate the season anymore. In fact, the few permanent visitors usually left to see their own families.

And then that fateful Christmas ten years ago. He had been all alone in the castle, but for the servants. It had begun as yet another holiday of painful memories, redeemed only briefly by receiving the traditional presents.

If only he'd accepted that one present that mattered. The rose. A choice that could not be revoked. A choice he'd relived as a nightmare for almost a full decade. Why would he want to bring the memory to full, waking life again by enacting all those agonizing Christmas rituals?

_"Lo, how a rose e'er blooming…"_

The Beast could not resist a look at the rose. Nine years, eleven months, sixteen days, it taunted him. In defiance of the song's words, it was wilting in earnest.

The Beast surged to his feet. He couldn't stand this. He had to find Belle, and talk her out of her ideas of celebrating Christmas. He'd have to make her understand, somehow, without revealing that the main reason he hated Christmas was that it was the anniversary of the magical curse on the castle.

Where had she said she was going in the mirror? _"Do you think anyone would mind if I paid a visit to…"_

"The boiler room," the Beast finished his memory aloud. Why was she going there? Unless it was to visit the boiler himself, bolted to the wall in one of the vast castle cellars. But the way she'd said it sounded like she had some other reason than a social call.

No matter. He'd find her there.

Down he stalked, into the bowels of the castle. He rarely came here; there was no particular reason unless something went seriously wrong with the castle heating. And even then he'd be more in the way than helpful. Still, it wasn't difficult to find the boiler room. He just had to follow the faint smoky scent emanating from its vast chamber.

The door was cracked, throwing rippling red light on the stone floor. The Beast pushed the door open further and peered inside.

One of the final improvements to the castle made by his father before his death had been the boiler. It was a new idea just imported from Germany: to have a series of metal pipes through the castle walls, attached to an enormous stove that was kept burning throughout the cold months. In this way the castle stayed much warmer than it had before the boiler. The cost had been enormous, and people whispered their ruler had finally lost his mind, but there was no denying it worked. And still worked to this day, though the head foreman had taken the place of the stove itself.

A great deal of the split wood for the castle was also kept in the boiler room. It was here, sorting through one of these vast piles of logs, that the Beast found Belle. He watched her for a few seconds. She seemed to be looking for something specific, picking up this log and that, critically examining them, then replacing them. At last, she found one that suited her. She smiled, stroking it happily. The Beast could see nothing that made this log better than all the rest. It was just a log.

He pushed open the door and went inside. Belle, startled at the door's creak, turned, and jumped when she saw him. "Oh!" She put a hand to her chest, nearly dropping the log. "You scared me." She waited a few moments, and when the Beast couldn't bring himself to do more than stare at her, she asked carefully, "Were you looking for me? Is something wrong?"

The Beast shook his head to clear it. When she turned to face him, he had been struck by how beautiful she was in the rosy light. Even obviously pregnant. In fact, the rounded curves only enhanced her beauty, at least for him. "No—nothing's wrong," he stammered. "What are you doing?"

"Oh." Belle looked guiltily at the log in her hand. "Nothing."

"What's so special about that log?" he demanded.

Belle heaved a sigh, as if bracing herself. "It's a Yule log."

The Beast wasn't sure what this meant, but there was that dreaded word 'Yule.' He could feel his lips start to curl.

"It's a peasant tradition. Do you know about it?" asked Belle.

The Beast had to admit he didn't. The question diffused his anger, at least for the moment.

"One special log is chosen each December for the Yule log. Some families have a specific kind of wood they always pick. On Christmas Eve, everyone in the household touches it and makes a wish."

"Hmph." The Beast snorted disdainfully. "Wishes are stupid." He'd been wishing for years, with no results.

"Really?" Belle tilted her head.

"Is this what you wished for last Christmas?" His gesture took in their entirety of their circumstances: the castle, his monstrous body, her pregnancy.

Belle looked down. "No. Of course not." Her head came up, and her chin was out stubbornly. "I've wished certain things hadn't happened, but wishing can't change the past. Wishing is for the future. It gives us something to hope and work for, that things will get better. That's the whole point of the Christmas season. And I plan keep on wishing, for the rest of my life."

The Beast stared at her. He'd never thought about wishing in terms of past and future. But Belle was right: wishing changed nothing about the past. He'd wasted many, many wishes that way. There were so many things about the past he longed to have been different. Most of the things in his life, in fact.

Had he ever bothered to wish for the future? Of course, in vague terms he'd wished for the nightmare of the curse to end, somehow. When he was a child, he'd wished his father paid him more attention. But he hadn't really thought to put things into a specific request, as seemed to be required by the Yule log tradition.

Belle hefted the log. "The Yule log is burned on Christmas morning. The fire isn't banked until—"

"Belle, please. Don't. I don't want Christmas here."

"Why not?"

"I'm cursed." The Beast bit back a gasp of horror. What had possessed him to say that? Something about the sad, compassionate way Belle was looking at him had inspired a mind-numbed moment of total honesty. Furiously wracking his brain, he added, "What I meant was, I feel cursed to a life of being alone. Christmas just reminds me of everything I'm missing. It always has." There. That was all completely true, even if it wasn't the whole truth.

Belle nodded. What she made of his little speech was impossible to say. "I understand how you feel now. Cogsworth has been trying to warn me, but I didn't listen to him. I was hoping that if I just showed you how wonderful Christmas can be, you might change your mind. I'm sorry to have caused you pain.

"But it doesn't change how I feel about Christmas, either. It's important to me. Maybe we can compromise?"

"Compromise?" the Beast repeated.

"Yes. We each give up something, and get something in return. How about, if you agree to let me have a small celebration on Christmas Day with the servants, then I'll agree to keep it all hidden from you. You won't even know it's going on. And I won't bring Christmas up around you again unless you ask. Does that work?"

"What do you give up?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I had grand plans for decorating the whole castle and having a big feast for everyone," Belle admitted with a small smile. "But I can certainly live without those things."

The Beast considered. What was the harm in Belle having a Christmas, so long as he didn't have to see it? Especially if it really meant that much to her. "All right. I agree."

"Thank you!" Belle gripped his paw warmly in her hand. A strange tingle shot up his arm at her touch. Belle squeezed, and let go. The Beast defeated the urge to stroke his paw where she'd touched him.

Belle was still talking, oblivious to his fidgets. "You're welcome to come to the celebration too, if you change your mind. Christmas doesn't have to be lonely, if you choose."

The Beast sincerely doubted anything would change his mind, but sensed it would hurt Belle's feelings to say so. So he just shrugged awkwardly. Belle smiled again and left the room, still carrying her Yule log.

Would he ever understand her? He knew she hated to lose an argument; at least as much as he did, though she was better at hiding it. Once she'd set her mind to something, she did not take no for an answer. She'd sounded very determined in the mirror. Yet she had been willing to agree to not bother him about celebrating Christmas again, because she realized how much it upset him.

Belle kept her word. Over the next week the Beast did not notice anything different about the castle, despite the fact the he kept an eye out. The servants were visibly excited, but Belle had made no promises about their behavior, so the Beast tried to ignore it. Cogsworth, Lumière, and Mrs. Potts took turns trying to persuade him to join them at the Christmas celebration, if only to spend more time with Belle, but he would have none of it. What he couldn't understand was why the servants were taking Belle's side on this. They should have as many bad memories about Christmas as he did.

Less than a week before the dreaded day, the Beast was pacing the halls one evening, trying to ignore the happy murmurings of anticipation coming from all directions. His feet took him in the direction of the parlor. As he approached, he saw a flickering light that told him someone had lit a fire. Curious, he poked his head in.

Belle was curled up on the couch closest to the fire. She had a large leather-bound book propped on her bulging stomach, and was reading with great intensity. She looked so serious that the Beast thought she wouldn't notice him, but then she looked up as if she'd known he was there all along.

"Hello." She smiled peacefully.

"What are you reading?" the Beast asked, coming forward to join her on the couch.

Belle made room, looking a little nervous. "The Nativity story."

The unfamiliar word stirred in his memory. Something about spending a long time in the dark chapel, with candles everywhere, a priest reading something aloud, and everyone in their best clothes. And it was cold. "This is Christmas-related, isn't it?"

"It is," Belle admitted. "It's a fancy word for the Christmas story, when the Christ child was born. Remember the song Madame and I were singing last week? The song is about the Christ and Mary, his mother."

"I don't remember much about the story," the Beast said, in spite of himself. The mention of Christmas made him want to get up and leave, but he also didn't really want to move away from Belle.

Belle eyed him questioningly. Then she shrugged, and said, "I can read it to you, if you want."

The prospect of listening to Belle read aloud was too tempting to pass up—it never happened often enough in their time with _Arthur and Guinevere_. The Beast edged a little closer to indicate his agreement. Belle's eyebrows shot upwards. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and shrugged. Then she paged through the book until she found the one she wanted, and began to read.

The language was a little dryer than _Arthur and Guinevere._ If he had been reading himself, the Beast would have had a hard time concentrating. However, with Belle reading everything with the assurance of long habit, he could listen to the complicated sentences and still understand them without much trouble.

He had to admit he'd never paid much attention to this story when he was young. He remembered the woman having her baby in a stable, and the shepherds and the angels, and the wise men. The beginning of the story caught his attention. Mary, the baby's mother, was engaged to be married to a man named Joseph when it was discovered she was pregnant. Joseph had resolved to divorce her quietly because he didn't want to publically disgrace her when an angel appeared and told him to take Mary as his wife anyway. The angel even told him what name to give the baby when he was born.

"Wait," the Beast interrupted after Belle read this part. "So what does that mean for Joseph?"

"He does as the angel commands and takes Mary as his wife. He's named as the earthly father of the Christ Child in the Bible. That's in the part of this book I didn't read you because it's not very interesting; it's the list of the baby's ancestors. A lot of names I can't pronounce," Belle laughed.

The Beast laughed, too, but he had a hard time concentrating on the rest of the story. He was too busy thinking about Joseph. By agreeing to marry Mary, Joseph was also agreeing to be a father to her child, even though the child wasn't his. He thought he knew how Joseph must have felt: he wanted Mary to love him, and then to find out she was pregnant by somebody else must have felt like a blow to the stomach. And yet Joseph still obeyed the angel and became her child's father in everything but the physical sense.

Suddenly he realized Belle had gone quiet. She had an odd expression on her face, as if she were listening to something nobody else could hear.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No," Belle answered slowly. "The baby's kicking."

"What? You can feel it?"

"I've been feeling it for a couple weeks. It's been getting stronger every time. Here." She seized his paw, spread the fingers, and placed it gently on the bump that was her child. "See if you can feel it too." Nervously, the Beast tried to extend the fingers of that paw so there was no chance of the claws scratching her. He felt silly, and terribly awkward. What if the one of the servants walked in on this? What would they think?

His sensitive pad detected a little flutter under his paw. "I think…" There it was again. "I think I can feel it." He withdrew his paw. "That's really…" He couldn't think of anything to describe it. His thoughts were scattered in every direction.

"It's late," said Belle abruptly. "I think I'll go to bed."

"I'll walk you there, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

They got up together and walked slowly to Belle's room. They said nothing to each other except "good night" right before Belle went inside.

The Beast went immediately to the West Wing, his thoughts still pinwheeling. He felt as though his brain were going to explode with everything that was going on inside it. The Christmas story he and Belle had just read, Christmas itself, Belle, her baby, his own surging hope…it was all too much. And the pin in the pinwheel was the moment he and Belle had just shared with the baby. He kept coming back to it. Something had happened between them all. He had no idea what to call it. He'd never felt this way before. It wasn't love, or he and the servants would be human right now. But it was something. A connection, for lack of a better word. 'Connection' would have to do for the moment.

Maybe Christmas really was the season for hope and wishes after all.

_

* * *

Author's Note: Whoo, this is a long chapter. And Christmas still isn't quite over yet! After all, we still have to get to Belle's little Christmas party._

_As you can see, I borrowed some concepts from the Enchanted Christmas without taking too much of the plot. I like EC, but I find some of the Beast's grouchiness in it a little excessive for my Beast at this point. And I really think Forte trying to kill them all would be too much on top of all the other problems Belle and the Beast have. Sorry to those of you who wanted to see that and sent me reviews to that effect._

_I feel compelled to point out my own historical anachronisms in this chapter. This is for my own scruples, so if you don't care, skip this paragraph. The boiler in EC obviously could not have existed during the eighteenth century. So I did a little borrowing from a German castle that was actually built in the early nineteenth century to describe the heating system. Also, in Catholic eighteenth-century France Belle would not have been reading the Bible in vernacular French. If she didn't read Latin, she wouldn't be reading the Bible at all, though she'd probably know most of the important stories. Finally, 'Lo, How a Rose' is German in origin, not French._

_I know Disney avoided religious tones in EC other than the mention of a star, but in this case I thought the Nativity story is plot relevant. I hope no one was offended._

_I promise to have the last chapter up mentioning Christmas before the holiday itself._

_Happy (early) Holidays._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	20. We Wish You a Merry

**Chapter 19**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast._

Belle sat dumbly on her bed. Madame was already dozing in the corner, though she had mumbled greetings when the young woman entered. Belle was grateful. She needed time alone to think things out.

She'd been so excited when she felt the first flutterings of her baby inside her. She had kept it to herself, though she rather thought Mrs. Potts suspected what was going on. The last time the baby had kicked when the servants were around and Belle had gone still to savor the joy of it, she caught the tail-end of a knowing smile from the teapot. Thankfully, Mrs. Potts had said nothing. Belle did not like the idea of Lumière trying to feel the baby's kicks. The candelabra was always careful to keep his hands from burning anyone, except Cogsworth of course, but in his excitement Belle feared he might forget.

Yet, as time went on, her own excitement grew every time she felt the baby move. She wanted to share it with someone. And then the baby had begun to kick, harder than ever, just as she was finished reading the Christmas story to the Beast. It was so strong she felt sure he'd be able to feel it. Her need to share her joy had overwhelmed her, and she'd placed his paw on her stomach.

At first, she could tell he was embarrassed by her gesture. Then the baby had kicked, and he'd gone just as still as she. He'd felt it. For a moment, Belle knew they'd shared the same excitement.

Then she realized what she'd done. She rarely touched the Beast, and he never touched her first. Suddenly, she was inexplicably very self-conscious. In her panic, she'd asked simply to go to bed. He'd walked her to her room without a word. Maybe she'd offended him by asking him to feel the baby, or her abrupt ending to the evening, or both. It was hard to tell with him.

She was so confused. What was so inherently disturbing about what had just happened? Yet she _was_ disturbed. She felt as though she'd done something incredibly important without realizing it. Yet in what way it was important, she couldn't put her finger on. Or why it bothered her so much.

She and the Beast had gotten to know one another quite well in the past few weeks. Belle even dared to think that they'd, tentatively, become friends. Certainly she enjoyed being around him, and he needed very little excuse to spend time with her these days. Belle hoped she had helped to ease the crushing loneliness he complained of sometimes. Just knowing he was around often kept her from being overwhelmed with worry for her father. Which was odd, because the Beast was the cause of their separation in the first place.

They knew where they stood with each other. Maybe that was what was bothering her. Feeling her baby kick inside her was something outside that comfortable space. They'd never done anything quite so…intimate.

Having decided on that, Belle settled down to try to go to sleep. But she tossed and turned for a long time before finally slipping into dreams.

---

_ When she did sleep at last, her dreams were more disturbed than they'd been for a long time. Several times she saw Gaston chasing her, but she was unable to get away because she was hugely pregnant, or carrying a squirming infant in her arms. She always woke up before she was caught, which was fortunate, because she was convinced something dreadful would happen to her or her baby if Gaston did reach them. The last time, just when Belle thought she was going to be caught for sure, a cloaked figure leapt between her and her pursuer. At first she thought it was the Beast; when he turned to look at her, he had the same eyes. Then the figure shrank, and became the boy in the portrait she'd seen in the West Wing. He smiled at her in a way that soothed her blind terror, for just a moment._

_ "Don't worry, Belle," he said, in a cracked adolescent's voice. "I'll keep you and the baby safe."_

_ Belle almost believed him. He sounded so sure of himself. Then he turned back to face Gaston, and her panic returned. Gaston was well over a head taller than the boy, hugely muscled, and angry as a bull. The boy only had determination._

_ "Wait," Belle begged. "I can't stand to see you killed, for me. I don't even know you."_

_ "Don't you?" the boy asked without looking at her._

_ Gaston raised a ham-sized fist. The boy tensed his shoulders and crouched, ready. And Belle knew him. "No!"_

---

Belle sat up with a gasp. Across the room, Madame also gasped as she woke.

"What's wrong, dear? Are you in pain?"

"No…no," said Belle, trying to get her breathing under control. "I just had…a bad dream."

"Ah. Well, you certainly gave me a turn. Do you want to talk about it?"

Belle considered, and decided on a half-truth. "It was about the baby's father."

"You dream of him often?"

"Not so often anymore. I used to almost every night the first few months. Things got better when I came here."

"You feel safer here."

"I think so, yes. I don't know why the dream came back tonight." Belle was fairly sure she did, but of course she wasn't going to say so. She leaned back on her pillows with a sigh.

"Shall I get Mrs. Potts to bring you a nice hot cup of tea?" asked Madame.

"No, thank you," said Belle. "I wouldn't dream of waking her just for a nightmare."

"Very well, dear, if that's how you want it. Remember, I can ring for her anytime if you can't sleep."

"Thank you, Madame." Both of them settled back down, and Madame was snoring again in minutes. Belle lay awake, thinking with surprising clarity on what she'd just discovered.

How had she missed this before? She had suspected, ever since seeing that portrait. She'd dismissed it then. The notion that anything as animal as the Beast could ever have been human had seemed outlandish.

She hadn't given the idea any real consideration since. Not even as she came to know the Beast, and realize her first impressions had failed to encompass everything that he was. He might be a monster, but he was one in form only. Like the servants, he looked like one thing, but was clearly—she now saw—something else.

He was the boy in the ripped West Wing portrait.

It was so obvious, now that her mind had made the final connection in her nightmare. The eyes, of course. There were also the small gestures, almost unconscious, that he made whenever he spoke of himself. He'd look down at his paws, and scowl, or look away. He hated his body, because it wasn't his own.

How long had he been a Beast? Belle knew that answer almost immediately. Ten years, of course. All the hints that something had happened to cut the castle off from the outside world a decade before pointed to it. Something had happened, and everyone in the castle been changed from human shape to the way they were now.

How? And why? Belle had no explanation. She knew so little about magic, except what she'd read in her books. And maybe magic actually worked differently in the real world. Still, it was a place to start. She was willing to bet that strange rose in the West Wing was tied in somehow.

Oh, this was silly, thinking about magic in the real world. Belle half-expected to wake up and find she'd actually fallen asleep again. But for that to be true, then she'd have to have dreamed the past two months as well. The things she'd seen were undeniable.

She felt she'd known the truth for a long time. And she'd been treating the Beast accordingly, in fact, even unconsciously. She'd begun to take for granted that he might look like an animal, but he could think like a person. Yes, he had a temper and could be violent, but so could many humans. He could read—he'd had someone to teach him, before he was changed.

If he was the boy in the portrait, and it had been ten years, then he was no longer a boy, really. He was a young man of her own age. Which explained the few times she'd caught him staring at her the way the men in the village used to stare when they thought she didn't notice.

Belle sighed with frustration. Why had it taken her this long?

She didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

---

It was hard not to stare at the Beast when she saw him the next day, looking for human features. There wasn't much to see except his eyes, of course. The rest was all hair and fangs and claws and horns. Belle tried to picture what he would look like human based on her memories of the portrait, but all she could really recall were the eyes, the odd color of his hair—nothing like the Beast's solidly brown fur—and the strong-boned cheeks. And that she'd thought he'd be handsome if he were older. That thought brought heat to her face, so she pushed it away.

"Are you all right?" His growling voice interrupted her thoughts. "You're very pale."

"Oh! Yes. I'm just a little t-tired." She stifled a yawn around the last word.

"Madame told me you had trouble sleeping last night," said Mrs. Potts, who happened to be in the room.

"I had nightmares," Belle admitted.

"Next time, come to me, whether you think you'll disturb my rest or not," Mrs. Potts admonished firmly. "I have a very soothing tea that puts you right back to sleep."

"She does, too," the Beast put in, with the air of one trying to be helpful.

Belle felt a stab of pity at this. How did he not have nightmares every night, after what had happened to him?

She had to stop this. He didn't want to be pitied; she wouldn't, in his shoes. She'd just have to continue treating him as she had been: as a friend, and someone else who was lonely in the castle. With that in mind, she continued the day, determined to act as if nothing had happened the night before. Things settled into their usual pattern, frantic as it had become as Christmas approached, and Belle found it relatively easy to slip her new revelation into the back of her mind. There it stayed, though it sometimes surfaced at odd moments.

She went to bed early, and did not dream at all.

---

Belle went to bed the night before Christmas Eve full of anticipation. There was a great deal to do to get ready for the party on Christmas Day. The only official acknowledgement of Christmas Eve, however, was the Yule log tradition before everyone went to bed. The servants all planned to stop into the main parlor before they turned in for the night, touch the log, and make their wish. Belle would carry the log to those of the staff unable to move, assisted by Cogsworth, who would make certain everyone was accounted for.

Christmas Eve dawned chilly and clear. The out-of-the-way upstairs parlor chosen to host the celebration was mostly decorated, and Belle spent the morning supervising the final touches. Then Lumière shooed her outside, wrapped warmly in a heavy fur jacket, to get some fresh air. There she found the Beast seated by the small pond in the castle's pocket valley. They walked through the snow together, discussing Sir Lancelot's obsession with Guinevere. When Belle's toes were frozen, they went back inside to warm up. Belle settled down with a cup of hot cider in the parlor, and the Beast disappeared, presumably back to the West Wing.

Before she knew it, it was time to take the Yule log around. Each of the stationary servants touched the log when Belle held it out, looking very happy to make their silent wish for the new year. Then it was back to the parlor, where the servants trickled in as work concluded for the day. Cogsworth had a long list of names to check off, which Belle found very comical. Lumière obviously thought so too; he kept catching Belle's eye, glancing at Cogsworth's plump form buried under its mound of paper, and chuckling. Belle privately thought the head of the household looked like an overworked Saint Nicholas.

She had _not _expected to look up at the very end of the evening, when only Cogsworth and Lumière were left in the room, to see the Beast standing in the doorway. Belle suppressed the urge to hide the log behind her. She had promised to keep their Christmas festivities from him, but so long as he didn't recognize the log, they were probably safe.

"Good evening, Master," Lumière greeted. "You are not too late."

"Too late?" Belle repeated, then frowned. "You told him we were doing this tonight. I promised him I wouldn't—"

"Ah, but we did not," Lumière told her cheekily. Belle and the Beast both glared at him, and he made a small effort to look contrite.

"Did you come to make a wish?" Belle asked. The Beast nodded dumbly. She held it out, he took it, turned it over once in his paws. Then he handed it back, and left. That was all.

Belle held the wood tight to her chest, and wondered what he had wished for. And why he had come at all. After everything he'd said about Christmas and wishes…

Lumière's voice broke into her thoughts. "And you, _chérie_? You are the last."

"Oh. Yes." Belle looked down at the log. What did she want to ask for? There were so many things that came to mind. Usually she spent days working out what she was going to ask, but she'd been so busy recently she hadn't had time to think about it.

_I wish…I wish…_

_ I wish the Beast could be happy, _was the first concrete thing that jumped into her head. Belle immediately wanted to withdraw it, but the wish was made. She set the log down by the fire, and went upstairs in a daze.

_Why did I wish for that? _was her last coherent thought before she fell asleep.

---

Christmas Day was grey, and the lowering sky threatened snow. Belle was pleased for the most part; she liked a white Christmas, though the sky's color was a little foreboding. The baby gave a gentle kick, as if in agreement.

She did not see the Beast all day. Mrs. Potts reported that he'd asked to have his meals brought to the West Wing. Belle still held out hope that he'd changed his mind, especially after his unexpected appearance the night before, but it appeared she hoped in vain.

It was hard to think too much about the Beast, however. With him out of the way, the servants burst into a peal of happy anticipation of their first Christmas in years, and swept Belle along with them. She couldn't turn a corner without running into someone else singing a Christmas carol. The upstairs parlor was a full four-part harmony, one which she gladly joined in. Thus the day passed very happily until evening.

After dinner, the whole household gathered to sing Christmas carols, dance, and exchange gifts. Belle kept finding herself glancing at the door, but the Beast did not surprise her again. It was hard not to be disappointed. Still, in all, Belle had a wonderful time. The servants had somehow conspired to secretly make her a Christmas stocking and fill it with small gifts like sweets, necklaces and hair ornaments, ribbons, and toys for the baby. There were so many things they were spilling out of the top of the stocking. Belle was delighted, and could not stop thanking them all.

At last, the celebration broke up, with cries of "Merry Christmas!" echoing down the halls. In all the commotion, Belle managed to slip away unseen. She first went to the library, where she'd hidden her Christmas gift for the Beast, and then made her way nervously to the West Wing. She climbed the stairs for the second time, and made her way down the shattered corridor to the double doors. Instead of opening them, however, she knocked.

It seemed an age before the Beast opened the doors. "Belle!"

"I'm sorry to bother you, and I know I promised," she said in a rush. "But I came up to give you this." She held out her small wrapped package. "Don't think of it as a Christmas gift if it bothers you. But I wanted to give you something."

Delicately, the Beast took the gift. "I—thank you, Belle." He unwrapped it to find a hand-bound book. His expression went blank.

"I wrote and bound it myself," Belle explained. "I hope you like it." The Beast still stared at the book as if not sure what to do with it. Belle, relieved that he hadn't handed it back, said, "Well, good night," and turned to go.

"Merry Christmas, Belle," the Beast said from behind her.

Belle turned in surprised pleasure. "Merry Christmas, Beast." She smiled at him, and he actually smiled back. Then he retreated and shut the door.

Belle practically skipped back to her own room. If it hadn't been for the baby and the danger of falling, she would have literally danced the whole way. She had thought her feelings of well-being could not be any greater, until she opened her door.

"Merry Christmas, dear!" Madame said, putting on the light as Belle came in.

"Merry Christmas, Madame!" Belle returned. She was a little puzzled, as they had exchanged greetings that morning, but then she saw her bed.

Spread on it was the most beautiful gown she had ever seen. It was made of yellow silk, and the skirt was tucked and flounced so that it looked like the tumbling base of a waterfall.

"Madame!" Belle gasped. She picked up the dress and spun gently with it. "This is gorgeous! When did you have time to do it?"

"I have my little ways," Madame smiled smugly. "I have to have something to do when you're not here."

"Oh, thank you! This is the most wonderful dress!" She held it up to herself. "I wish I could put it on, but I think I'll have to wait until after the baby comes for it to fit properly."

"That's what we thought, dear. Something to save for celebrating the birth of your firstborn, when you're recovered, of course. And don't thank me. It wasn't my idea."

"Whose idea was it? Mrs. Potts? Lumière?" Madame shook her head. "I can't see Cogsworth thinking of this." Suddenly, Belle's jaw dropped open. "Not…"

"Chip helped you make that book, remember? He told his mother, and she and the others helped convince the Master it wouldn't be right not to give you something in return, Christmas traditions aside. The dress _was_ his idea, though. I have no idea how he thought of it."

Belle stroked the material. "I would never have dreamed to ask for something like this. But it's perfect. I'll have to thank him."

"Oh, don't!" Madame exclaimed. "I wasn't supposed to tell you anything. It was just going to be from all of us to you. As a thank you for coming here and rearranging our lives for the better."

Belle shrugged. "It was really just chance that I came. But all right. I'll thank the head staff when I see them tomorrow. And I won't say anything to the Beast. Still…" Belle twirled again. "This is wonderful. I can't imagine a better Christmas surprise."

---

"You're welcome," said a low voice to the glowing mirror its owner held in one paw.

_

* * *

Author's Note: Surprise! I really needed to get this chapter out of the way because writing it is interfering with my last-minute Christmas preparations. Isn't that always how writing works? You get a good idea right when you're busiest. So I sat down and cranked it out over the past few days._

_I will attempt a brief explanation as to my logic behind this chapter. Those of you who have read my oneshot fic "All Along" will know that I think it a bit of a stretch that Belle didn't figure out about the curse before the end of the movie. She reads a lot of fairy tales, and she's also a pretty perceptive person. I find it very odd that she wouldn't have realized everyone was really human—I think she knew, or at least suspected, for a lot of reasons I don't have space to write out here._

_However, I hadn't intended for that realization to happen in this chapter. As most good writers know, the characters have a certain amount of control over what happens to them. The entire first half of the chapter was all Belle. I thought this was going to be short little addendum to chapter 18. The joke's on you, Ms. Supposed Author!_

_Anyway, Season's Greetings and Happy Holidays to you all. Enjoy my early Christmas present to you. I've got a ton of stuff to do between now and New Year, so don't expect to hear from me until the calendar says 2010. I hope you have a wonderful holiday!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_

_PS—TrudiRose—that bothers me about canon Belle, too. She's very convinced she's right all the time, though it's much more pronounced in the sequels than the original movie. I hope I've toned that down enough, yet left some of it intact so I haven't inadvertently created a Mary Sue. BTW, congrats, your review was #100 on this story. ::confetti:: _


	21. Something There

**Chapter 20**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or any of these characters._

The Beast woke one morning in late January feeling restless. Driving wind and snow had kept him inside for nearly a week. His animal body did not like being cooped up for this long. However, when he rose this morning, stretched, and peered out at the castle grounds, he could tell immediately something had changed. The wind was no longer trying to yank his fur from his skin. He pushed further beyond the curtain, and did not feel drops of icy cold falling onto him. The snow had finally stopped.

The Beast padded onto the balcony. The sight before him really was lovely, as Belle would say. He hadn't taken time to look…well, since moving into the West Wing. The castle turrets were sugar frosted, and the valley just a series of benevolent lumps that indicated where things were in the gardens.

Hoof and footprints, tiny dots below, showed Belle had already been out walking Philippe. This made sense, because yesterday she had been complaining that the poor horse needed exercise. The Beast had been careful to stay away from Philippe, not wanting to scare him, but he occasionally wished he could go on these walks, too. Apart from their walk together at Christmas, he and Belle had not done anything together outside.

Christmas. The memory of those two days, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, still glimmered like a small beacon of hope in his memory. Belle giving him her handmade gift, so shyly, and her pleasure at the dress he'd had Madame make for her, were especially vivid and bright. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible. She might have feelings for him. Most of the time he tried to squash this hope; he was still a Beast, how could she possibly think of him as anything else? Then he would remember her expression of surprised delight at finding out who her gown was from, and a tiny shiver would run down his spine.

And then there was the Yule log wish. He still couldn't think about that without some discomfort. He'd fully intended to wish for his own freedom, for the end to his nightmare at last. Instead, as his claws touched it, he'd inexplicably thought of Belle. In a moment of complete insanity, he'd wished for Belle's child to be born safely. The dangers of childbirth were well known to him; not even the nobility were exempt. One of his favorite of his mother's ladies-in-waiting had died giving birth when he was quite small, and her sudden disappearance from his life had left an impression on him.

But, still, he thought, all these weeks later: what had possessed him? Not that he believed any of the Yule Log wishes would come true, but why waste the chance? It was very frustrating to recall. He'd been twice a fool; first, that he'd actually allowed himself to believe in Belle's talk of the Yule log, second, that if he did accept the log's credibility, he'd used his wish on something other than release.

Things had returned to normal after Christmas between himself and Belle. They still read _Arthur and Guinevere_ together nearly every day. Reading was slowly becoming easier, and as a consequence, more fun. It helped that he had Belle's book to practice with on his own. Her writing style was nowhere near as ornate as _Arthur and Guinevere_. He could read her whole gift without help thus far.

In fact, it wasn't a book in itself, but a bound collection of shorter stories. Some were fairy tales she had just transcribed—he could tell the voice wasn't Belle's. The rest of the stories, however, were things she'd actually experienced: anecdotes from her childhood, and from life in the castle. Of her time in the village she sometimes spoke of as her most recent home he learned nothing, but he did learn that she had grown up in many different large cities around France. Only three people remained the same in these stories: Belle herself, her gentle mother, and her absentminded father. Through them, the Beast saw a commoner childhood; the joys, the scrapes, the hard times, the amusements. He envied Belle, in a way. She'd had many other children to play with. He'd never had anyone his own age in the castle.

The rest of the stories were from Belle's last few months in the castle. Here, he saw the people he knew through Belle's eyes instead of his own. Things he hadn't realized or bothered to notice before were suddenly brought to his attention. As in her childhood stories, Belle was a keen observer of the people she was close to. She wrote of Chip's adventures in a way that always made the Beast smile. He'd also always assumed that Cogsworth and Lumière hated each other. In Belle's stories of them, he saw that their bickering actually masked a solid partnership. They might fight, but each knew his duties, his own strengths, and the other's weaknesses inside and out, and the household ran smoothly as a result. The pair might even be friends—Belle sometimes caught them doing one another favors without anyone else noticing.

The Beast shook his head. Belle was still showing him new things, even all these months later.

He decided, since it was a bright, clear day, to cure his restlessness by going for a walk in the snow. Maybe then he could get his mind off Belle, and the things she made him think and feel when she was around.

No such luck. Not five minutes into his walk, he came across a cloaked figure. It had its back to him, but he knew from the odd combination of grace and clumsiness of movement that it was Belle. She seemed to get bigger every week, now.

She turned at the last minute; his paws were very quiet on the snow. However, she did not seem surprised to see him.

"The baby was kicking. He always seems to do that when you're around. I should learn to pay more attention to him," she said with a gentle smile.

Unnerved by this statement, the Beast elected not to comment on it. Instead, he said, "What are you doing?"

Belle showed him her skirt, which she held bunched in one hand so it formed a sort of basket. In it was a pile of breadcrumbs. "Feeding some of the birds that live around here."

"Birds?" The Beast squinted at the trees. Sure enough, small dark shapes hopped among the bare branches.

"If I do this regularly, I can get them to eat from my hands. I think I've done it with this flock enough by now that they might come to you, too. Here." Belle held out a handful of crumbs.

"Uh…" Belle's gesture left no room for argument. The Beast took the crumbs. "I've never done this before."

"It's easy. Watch." Belle held out a few crumbs on her palm. Immediately, three small birds dropped down and began gulping. They flew back to the trees as soon as the crumbs were gone.

"Now you."

The Beast tried to do as Belle had, but no matter how long he held out his paws, no birds came. "It's no good," he grumbled. "They know I'm a monster. They're smart to stay away."

"It takes patience. And maybe a few tricks. Here." Belle took his wrists and guided them towards the snow. Then she spread a trail of crumbs leading to his paw.

They waited, still as two garden statues. Then one small bird flew down. It pecked a few crumbs from the snow, then with a wingbeat, bounced into the Beast's paws.

The Beast stared. It was so small, and so trusting. His claws formed a thorny hedge around the little brown figure. Yet, he thought, maybe the bird thought it was safe within the hedge rather than believing the hedge would harm it.

He looked at Belle and grinned. Belle smiled back, and something in her eyes made his heart begin to pound. Parts of him tingled uncomfortably. He had no idea what he was supposed to do about these sensations. Then, to make matters worse, Belle took his arm and used it to lever herself into a standing position, which brought their faces quite close. For half a second, the Beast entertained the notion of leaning forward, and…well, kissing her. But then he recoiled from the idea. Not only would she be disgusted with the idea of kissing a Beast, but because of what had happened to her, she would probably not take kindly to any gestures of the sort. From anyone.

He'd have to bottle away any more such feelings, for both of their sakes.

And in the meantime, Belle's hand had moved from his arm to his shoulder, and she seemed to have no intention of moving it. He could feel the warmth of her palm even through his cloak, shirt, and fur.

Another sparrow flew down to join the first, distracting him. "You see?" Belle said, her hand still on his shoulder. She squeezed gently. "Actually, I've never seen them take to anyone so quickly."

"They like you. Maybe they trust your judgment."

"No, wild birds see more than that. They can sense the intentions of people approaching them. If someone rough comes up, they fly away in a great flock. They couldn't survive if they let just anyone get close."

Well, this was something to consider. Belle was clearly implying that the birds trusted him of their own volition. The Beast thought maybe that trust was misplaced. He could do a great deal of harm, without much effort. Yet for some reason the birds trusted him anyway.

He hoped the birds weren't wrong. He certainly didn't _want_ to hurt them.

He glanced up to find Belle drifting away among the trees. She whistled in a decent imitation of a bird call, and a bird flew down to light on her outstretched finger. Fascinated, the Beast watched as Belle and the bird whistled to one another in a whole conversation.

_How could anyone fail to see how special she is?_ he thought. _She's made remarks about people thinking her odd because she reads, or only seeing her for her beauty. Why can't they see that she's really beautiful because of who she is, not how she looks? Even nearly seven months pregnant with a child that's not mine, I think she's—_

Words failed him when it came to Belle, even in his own mind. She made him feel things he'd never imagined he could feel, had sworn he would never feel again after his parents died. He was even beginning to catch her growing anticipation about the birth of her child.

Things would change when the baby came, he knew. For one thing, the baby was supposed to arrive two weeks or so after the curse had been made permanent. Belle had given him the date, and his heart had sunk. However, strangely enough, it had also given him cause to think about _afterward_, if the curse was not broken in time. He'd always seen that moment as the end of the world, with nothing beyond it. But things would still go on. Belle's child would be born, she would become a mother, and he would be…what? A monster in the shadows? A furry animal companion that could talk? A…a…dared he think it? A father-like figure? The story of Mary and Joseph still played across his mind occasionally. Belle's baby was certainly not divine. The child had a very human father, one who, if Belle had anything to say about it, would not be part of his life. Did that mean someone else had to step in and fill the role? _Could _he, the Beast, do it, even trapped as a hideous creature?

He'd thought the baby would be terrified of him on sight. But the birds' reaction today had started to make him think maybe the baby would accept him for what he was. After all, neither the baby nor the baby's mother knew he had ever been different.

Speaking of the baby's mother, where had Belle gone? The Beast glanced around, and found that while he'd been distracted, practically the whole flock of birds had come swooping down to land on him, no doubt looking for the last of the breadcrumbs. They were everywhere, from the tips of his horns all the way to the ends of his fingers.

"Wha—" he started to say, standing up rapidly. Immediately, the flock took off in a storm of feathers. The Beast covered his eyes until he could no longer hear the thunderous flapping of wings. Shaking his head, he looked around for Belle again.

And found himself face to face with a shock of white powder.

Spitting snow and shaking with an odd, almost giddy fury, his eyes found Belle. She was leaning against a tree, clutching her bulging belly and…laughing.

"What's so funny?" he growled. His wrath was fading in the face of her amusement. He'd never seen her laugh so hard before, and it wasn't easy to stay angry in the face of it.

"You," she gasped. "You should have seen your face…I'm sorry…we used to do this when I was young…I couldn't resist…"

"Oh, really? Well, turnabout is fair play." Bending over, he began to make the biggest snowball his paws could hold. When it was so heavy he could barely lift it, he raised it to throw.

And was hit with another snowball. The giant snowball teetered briefly in his moment of distraction, then collapsed, showering him with more white powder and knocking him on his backside.

"I'll get you for that!" he roared, surging to his feet.

Belle shrieked and started to run as well as she could toward the castle. Not a terrified shriek, his sensitive ears told him, but a shriek still tinged with laughter. He charged after her, thinking as he did so how nice it was to have made Belle laugh. Even if the joke was at his expense. When he did catch her, which came quickly given his greater strength and her condition, he was very careful to keep the game going while making sure not to be too rough. He swept her up in his arms and dumped her in the biggest snowdrift he could find at close range. Belle disappeared into the mound of white with another laughing shriek.

She resurfaced with a gasp, wiping powder from her face. "That's _cold_," she remarked.

The Beast just raised an eyebrow at her, and then they both began to laugh. He extended a hand, and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. With great dignity she brushed snow off her skirt, and reached up to wipe a little from his shoulders. In turn, he knocked some snow out of her hair. It had come loose from its ribbon and hung in icy straggles around her pink-tinged face.

"Mrs. Potts is going to fuss," she said, shaking more snow from her cloak.

"Let her," the Beast shrugged. "What harm can some snow do?"

"She'll be afraid we'll catch cold." Belle drew her cloak in a little closer. "Still, this was too much fun to miss."

"Maybe we should go in, then," he suggested. He didn't like the idea of her getting sick again.

"All right. We can change into something dry, and then…maybe I'll see you for lunch?"

He froze. He'd avoided letting her see him eat ever since she'd arrived. He ate like an animal, complete with loud crunching and slurping noises and food getting everywhere. When he'd first demanded that she eat with him, he hadn't even considered what she'd think of his table manners. But he'd watched her eat meals in the mirror a few times since he'd rescued her from the wolves. She was dainty, and careful. She ate in small bites, with forks, knives, and spoons. She would no doubt be horrified with the spectacle of watching him eat. He didn't want her looking at him with horror.

He opened his mouth to refuse. "I…"

"I want to make up for turning you down so rudely that first time," she said, before he could finish.

Well, what could he say to that? She'd called him rude that night, and now she was admitting her own manners hadn't been impeccable, either. There was no getting out of it. "All right," he grumbled.

"Good!" She smiled. "I'll see you in the smallest dining chamber in twenty minutes. Unless you need more time," she added.

"No, I'll see you then." If she noticed his lack of enthusiasm; and given how observant he knew she was, she couldn't fail to notice, she hid it remarkably well. She nodded, and they walked silently into the castle together. Mrs. Potts met them, and fussed as Belle had predicted. She brightened considerably when Belle told her they wanted to have lunch together. Beaming, the teapot went to alert the kitchen.

Full of trepidation, the Beast went up to the West Wing to change. He winced as he glanced in the shattered mirror in the hall. He looked worse than usual. The drying snow had caused his fur to stick up in all sorts of odd directions. Why hadn't Belle said anything?

To his surprise, Lumière was waiting in the front parlor of the suite. "Ah, there you are, Master! Cogsworth tells me you are having lunch with Belle. I thought you could use my assistance."

"Yes, I can," the Beast answered. How the news had beaten him here, he really had no idea. Cogsworth and Lumière were even more efficient than he thought. After a moment, he added, "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, Master," the candelabra answered, beaming with delight. "Now, the first thing we will want to do is get that fur, ah, hair, in order…"

_

* * *

Author's Note: Yay, a fluffy chapter. I saw the Beauty and the Beast musical for the umpteenth time over the weekend, and it inspired me to start writing this story again. Short break, I know. I hope you had a good holiday and a happy New Year._


	22. You're the One That I Want

**Chapter 21**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast or any of these characters._

Belle waited in the dining room for the Beast to appear. Mrs. Potts and Chip came in and out on their usual cart, bringing in the dishes. Chip finally grew bored with this and hopped onto the table.

"Chip," began Belle cautiously. "Is there a…reason the Master has never eaten with me before?"

"I dunno," Chip answered. "He asked you the first time."

"I remember. I was just curious."

"I think it's just 'cause he's messy," the little cup said in a conspiratorial tone.

"Messy?" Belle repeated.

"Stuff goes everywhere when he eats. I've heard Mama talking about it sometimes." Chip glanced surreptitiously at the door to the kitchen.

"Oh." This seemed like an odd reason for the Beast to avoid her. Maybe he was embarrassed, but surely it couldn't be _that_ bad. So many of his former beastly habits had faded over the past few months. He walked upright nearly all the time now and was rarely to be seen without a shirt on, though he still usually wore cloaks over the shirt. He hardly ever bared his teeth when he was frustrated anymore. Oh well, forewarned is forearmed, she thought.

The baby gave her spine a good kick. She sucked in her breath a little at the blow. The child was getting stronger every day. Taking after his father. Belle winced at the thought.

She turned, and there was the Beast. As always, the baby seemed to know when the Beast was around. The Beast also seemed to turn up whenever her thoughts started to grow dark, as if sent to protect her from them. His mere presence always lightened her mood. She was automatically smiling before she'd even had time to think about it. Then her brow furrowed in concern at his expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Belle knew him too well to believe him, but decided to let it go. Instead, she said, "I'm glad to see I didn't damage you too much with my snowballs."

Her reward was a small smile. "And I was going to say you take defeat well."

"Defeat?" Belle repeated. "Who got hit in the head with his own snowball?"

"Who ended the contest in a snowdrift?" he wanted to know.

"We'll call it a draw, then," Belle said quickly.

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. "All right. Next time, I'll be ready for you."

"Lunch is served," came Mrs. Potts' apologetic voice from behind them. "I do hate to interrupt, but the food will get cold if the two of you insist on standing there!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Potts," Belle apologized. She made her way to one of the places and sat. She was dismayed to find that instead of the usual simple meal she ate in the middle of the day, there was an elaborate setting with three forks, three spoons, and two knives. She'd never seen more than one of each in her life.

No one else seemed to notice her discomfort. The servants were proudly setting dishes on the table, and the Beast was eyeing the platters, clearly lost in his own inexplicable nerves again. Belle hid her apprehension as well as she could and waited for the food to be set out. Once everything was in place, she ladled some soup into a bowl set nearby just for the purpose. At least this part of the table setting made sense. And Belle did love Mrs. Potts' vegetable soups. Even in the grip of strange cravings—pickles on wheat toast, among other things—she was always pleased to see a nice, steaming hot bowl of simple vegetable soup in front of her. She picked up a spoon at random, hoping it was the right one.

A crunching noise from the other end of the table made her look up. She couldn't restrain a small gasp. Chip had not been exaggerating when he'd said food went everywhere when the Beast ate. He was currently gnawing on a chicken leg, and bits of meat were flying in all directions. There were already stains on his clean shirt.

He looked up at her, chicken bone still halfway in his mouth. His expression would almost have been comical to Belle were she not so shocked. He looked like a child caught with a forbidden sweet. It was only because of Chip's forewarning that she was not also horrified by the truly incredible mess.

The Beast popped the bone out of his mouth and set it on his plate, a quick, embarrassed gesture. He looked so mortified that Belle felt pity dissolving her surprise. But she could think of nothing to say that would relieve the tension building in the room. She could sense the Beast was on the verge of fleeing to the West Wing unless she did something to forestall it.

She put her spoon involuntarily to her lips as she thought frantically of something to keep him in the room. The gesture caught his eye. She watched his blue gaze fasten on the utensil. Then he looked down at his own set of silverware as if seeing it for the first time. Hesitantly, he put down the chicken leg, sorted through the spoons with his claws, and selected one. Mrs. Potts poured him a bowl of soup. Belle found herself holding her breath as he gingerly dipped the spoon and brought it up.

A snag appeared as he tried to negotiate the spoon past his fangs. Belle's heart twisted with pity when he finally tried to dump the spoon's contents into his open mouth. Half of it spilled into the fur of his face.

Her own face burned as he turned to look at her. He was clearly ashamed. Now she understood why he had avoided eating with her. How humiliating, for someone who used to be human to have to eat in such an animalistic way. She had been wondering in the back of her mind how he'd degenerated to this point. Now she understood. Eating any other way was virtually impossible. Unless…

Deliberately, she put her own spoon down. She shoved all the utensils aside, and picked up the bowl itself. The Beast's face brightened as he instantly caught on to what she was doing. He did this same with his bowl. Their eyes held as they silently toasted each other and drank the soup. Belle thought she heard a sigh of relief from one of the servants. Probably Lumière or Cogsworth.

For the rest of the meal they avoided anything that required utensils to eat. Belle was fairly certain the servants wouldn't mind, and that they'd even tell the chef to fix 'safe' dishes when she and the Beast ate together in the future. At least she hoped they'd continue to have meals together sometimes.

After lunch, the two of them walked to the library together. About halfway there, the Beast swallowed, and said, just loud enough for her to hear over their footsteps, "Thank you."

"For what?" asked Belle, trying to stay casual. "There were too many knives and forks. I had no idea which things to use for what. It was easier to just ignore them."

That startled a throaty chuckle out of him. "If I remember what my teachers told me, you start on the outside and work your way in. At least until you learn what each of the forks and so on are actually for. I always thought the whole idea of having one fork for fish and another for vegetables was a strange one."

"Is that what they're for?" Belle laughed. "Maybe you can teach me sometime."

"I don't remember much of it. I learned a long time ago, and I…I haven't had to use it since then."

"You know more than I do. That way I'll be ready the next time the servants decide we need a formal lunch."

They smiled at each other, and continued to the library.

---

That was the first of several times they ate together. Not every meal, but a few times a week for the next few weeks. The Beast found his initial nerves about what Belle would think of his clumsy eating gradually slipping away. He knew she noticed when he made mistakes and food slipped onto the table or himself, but like many other things, she discreetly and kindly chose to say nothing. In turn, he never commented on her occasional odd choice of food. He did mention this to Mrs. Potts after Belle asked for herrings and cranberry preserves one day in early February.

"Ah," said Mrs. Potts knowingly. "Those are cravings, Master. Any expectant woman has them, and they can be quite unusual. I remember when I was carrying Chip—" She stopped, for which the Beast was grateful. The time around Chip's birth had been painful for him, coming so soon after his own mother's execution. Mrs. Potts shook herself and continued. "As I say, they're quite common among women in the family way, and they're different for every woman. They'll go away once the child is born, and she'll be right back to eating normal things again."

"Will she change?" asked the Beast. "I mean, after the baby comes. I've never known her _not _pregnant." What he meant by this was, _will she still be the Belle I've come to know?_

"For the most part, she'll be the same. Some women get very irritable and are easily upset when they're pregnant. Belle seems to be lucky in that area, at least so far. You'll have to be very careful around her in the final few weeks, though. Any small thing may distress her. You just have to remember that it isn't personally directed at you, and keep her as comfortable as you possibly can."

"You said, for the most part. What might change?" he asked.

"Well," said Mrs. Potts delicately. "She won't have as much time to spend with you. She'll be focused on the baby. Especially for the first few weeks, as she gets used to being a mother." For some reason, the teapot looked worried.

"Oh, is that all?" said the Beast with a shrug. "I knew that." In fact, he'd thought of it weeks before. At some point it had occurred to him that once the baby arrived, Belle would have to feed it and dress it and do all the other things it couldn't do for itself. He'd slowly been coming to accept that if he wanted to spend time with Belle at all after the baby was born, he'd better get used to having the baby there, too. It really wasn't so different from now, he reasoned. The baby _was_ there all the time, just inside Belle. And maybe, if Belle and Mrs. Potts would show him how, he could help take care of the baby himself, so that Belle wouldn't have to do it all.

The thought of not reading with Belle as much _had_ bothered him at first, but these days he'd come to terms with it. He was a good enough reader now to keep going on his own, and if he stumbled over a word he could always ask Belle later when she had a moment to spare. He'd nearly finished her Christmas gift, and they were fairly close to being done with _Arthur and Guinevere_. Maybe Belle could help him pick a new book to read for himself before the baby came, and he could keep working on it regardless of whether she had time to help him.

"Good," said Mrs. Potts, pulling his thoughts back to her. She'd looked relieved. "And now, if you will excuse me, Master, I should get back to the kitchen."

That conversation had been a few days ago. Now, it was fairly late evening. Dinner had been a few hours ago. The Beast had left Belle in the library, poring over a new book she'd discovered in a corner. Cogsworth had called him out for help settling an argument between three of the maid-featherdusters, and it had taken some time to sort out exactly what the problem was and work out a solution that suited everyone. Cogsworth had taken to involving the Beast somewhat in the running of the household since Christmas. Why, the Beast wasn't certain, because things had been running smoothly for many years without his intervention, but he had discovered that his mere presence tended to speed things along, especially among the lower servants who were still a little frightened of him. He had also found that he enjoyed coming up with a fair solution that made everyone involved think they'd gotten the better end of the deal. He wondered if his father had felt the same, dispensing justice in his court. Or maybe it was Belle's influence again. The Beast had noticed she was very good at smoothing over arguments between Cogsworth and Lumière so that the pair never even remembered they'd fought.

He entered the library, and stopped. Most of the candles had gone out. One or two were flickering stubs, here and there, giving the cavernous room a slightly eerie look. The fire was down to mere embers, though it was still giving off significant warmth. It was far too dark to read.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw Belle curled up on their usual couch, head on one armrest. An open book rested on her chest, and her knees were drawn up as tight as her stomach would allow. Clearly, she had read until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

The Beast paced forward until he was just a few steps away. He stood staring down at the girl on the couch. A few straggles of brown hair had come loose from their ribbon to brush her face. She wore a tiny, peaceful smile on her lips. One hand still rested on the book, the other embraced her bulging belly, a clear protective gesture even as she slept.

A rush of emotion overcame the Beast as he looked at her. She seemed so fragile. His animal instincts sensed, without really seeing it, the gentle beat of her pulse at her neck, and the second heartbeat of the child within her. Yet he knew Belle was anything but helpless. She had the sort of bravery that could weather a storm, rather than charge an attacking army. She was strong in a way he wasn't. When her old life had been ripped away, first by the man who'd forced himself upon her and then by the Beast himself, she hadn't tried to hide herself in a hole. Instead, she'd grimly kept forging ahead, living day by day and hoping things would get better. He admired her so much for that. He thought she was brave, and wise, and funny, and passionate, and stubborn, and kind, and he…and he…

He loved her.

The thought was like a physical blow, and he caught himself from staggering back a pace, afraid any noise might wake her. He found a chair at his elbow and gripped the back of it as he fought to come to terms with this new realization.

How had this happened? He'd made a decision, so long ago, at his father's graveside, that to care about anyone as deeply as he'd cared for his parents was too dangerous to risk. He'd walled himself away. The enchantress had cursed him, and love became even less relevant in his bestial state. And then Belle had arrived, practically at the last minute, and was found to be with child by another man. Again, the Beast had vowed he could never love her. It was impossible, inconceivable.

Slowly, bit by bit, day by day, Belle had invaded his mind and heart. Not that she had deliberately tried to do anything to earn his affections. All she had done was be herself. She'd dressed his wounds because she was kindhearted, and didn't want anyone to suffer. She had shown him the pathway into books because she loved them herself. Those two things had been the beginning. Everything else since then had been a further widening of the crack she'd opened into his heart.

She'd taught him so many things, most of them simply by forcing him to see, in her own subtle way, that his way of looking at things was not always how the world was. He'd resented her for a long time for this, wished occasionally that he could go back into his safe nest of ignorance where all he thought about was his next immediate need. But he'd changed too much, because of her. He thought about others, not only Belle, but the servants as well, of _their_ thoughts and feelings. He couldn't go back now.

He looked at Belle again. Now he knew what Lumière and Mrs. Potts had meant that October night when they said that love took time to grow, and yet you knew it in an instant. His love for Belle had slowly been building up over the months, and he was only just now coming to see it for what it was.

The terrible thing was that she'd never love him back. It would be cruel of him to expect for her to feel about him the way he felt about her. She was still badly hurt by the manner of her child's conception. Physical intimacy of any kind, even something as innocent as a kiss, might remind her of _that _night. He couldn't stand to think of hurting her in such a way just to satisfy his own wants.

It was painful for him, but he'd have to accept that he'd always be a Beast. His heart was given, but he had to be loved in return for the spell to be lifted. Even if Belle were someday ready to give her love to someone, it would certainly not be by his crucial twenty-fifth birthday. That was just a little over a month away. If he were going to do what was best for Belle, then he should keep his feelings to himself.

The Beast suddenly realized he'd been standing there watching Belle sleep for several minutes. It was a good thing she hadn't woken up. She would also be stiff, and cold, if she spent the whole night on the couch. She needed to go back to her room.

He didn't remember deciding to do it, later. He just found himself bending over and gently sliding his arms under Belle, after first placing her book on a table nearby. Within seconds, Belle was cradled against the Beast's chest. Her weight was almost nothing in his powerful arms. With utmost care, he made his way out of the library and out into the hall.

About halfway to Belle's room, she stirred. The Beast froze, trying to readjust his grip without waking her. Whatever happened, he didn't want her to panic at finding herself in his arms. But instead of waking, she snuggled closer to him, burying her face into his loose shirt. Her small smile grew bigger.

She looked so happy. The Beast wanted to stay still and savor this, but still feared her reaction if she woke up. He continued on to her room, where a very surprised Madame admitted him. He laid Belle on her bed, and stood watching her for a second longer. Her smile slowly faded into a vaguely confused expression, as if she were wondering in her dreams why she'd been put down. Involuntarily, the Beast saw his paw stretch out and smooth her hair back from her face. Then he turned and fled.

That night in the West Wing, he couldn't sleep for a long time. Belle's peaceful, happy expression as he held her close kept drifting across his vision.

---

_He stood looking at the rose under its bell jar. For once, it did not taunt him with how much time he had left. But it was nearly wilted. The Beast sighed, and closed his eyes._

"_Go ahead and wilt," he told it. "It doesn't matter anymore."_

"_You've given up, then?" asked a voice from behind him._

_He whirled to find the enchantress standing at the entrance to the balcony. Like the rose, she glowed faintly, so that he could easily make out her outline in the dark._

"_This is new," he told her, attempting to change the subject. "You're not going to make me relieve my nightmare again?"_

"_It didn't seem necessary this time. Answer my question." It was a command._

_He sighed again. "I haven't given up. I've just accepted the inevitable. Your curse can't be broken."_

"_Of course it can. You love that girl. Considering what you were when we first met, I am truly amazed you were able to find your heart again."_

"_It's because I love her that the curse won't be broken. She can't love me back."_

_The enchantress tapped her wand against her chin. "Because you're a monster physically? Would it make a difference if you were human? If only for a day, so you could explain?" She flicked her wand at him. He felt his skin tingle briefly, and sparkles of light obscured his vision for a moment. When his eyes cleared, he brought a paw up in front of his face, only to find it was a human hand. He flexed his fingers, and couldn't keep himself from smiling wistfully._

_Then he put it down to his side again to hide it from view. "No."_

"_No?" A smile flickered across the enchantress' face. "Are you sure?"_

"_Would it make a difference to how she'd feel about me? Maybe, in the future. But she's not ready. I only have a month left. It would be cruel of me to ask for her love so soon after what that man did to her."_

"_You seem certain of how she feels. Do you have so little faith in your personal charms?"_

"_Don't make fun of me," he growled. It sounded odd coming from a human voice. "We both know what I am. I don't deserve an amazing girl like her."_

"_I see." The enchantress regarded him for a moment. "Is it the baby she's carrying, then? I could—"_

"NO!_" He didn't even want to hear what she'd been going to suggest._

"_Well, then what's standing in your way? What do you have to lose by asking her?"_

_He closed his eyes in pain. "Everything."_

"_So it's a matter of courage, then. I suggest you find yours soon." She gestured at the rose, which flashed. His skin tingled again, and he was a Beast once more. She gave a decisive nod. "I might also suggest that you trust your girl. She may feel more for you than you think. I wish you luck in the next month."_

"_Wait!" He held out a paw._

"_Yes?"_

"_My…my servants," he stumbled. "They didn't deserve what happened to them, because of me. If I don't…can you…"_

_Her eyes narrowed. "Asking for favors, now, your Highness? You _have _changed." Her smile was mocking. "But I'll see what I can contrive. Don't you dare use this as an excuse for not trying to break my spell! If you do, then I can promise nothing will change, for you or your servants."_

_He looked down. "Yes, ma'am."_

_Her laugh sounded pleased, almost startled. Then she waved her wand, and was gone._

---

The Beast sat up. The first thing he did was look at the balcony, and then the rose. Both seemed the same as ever. The rose even told him, with its usual courtesy, that he had a month and seven days to break the spell.

He looked down at a paw, then back at the rose. "What was that about?"

_Was it even real? And do I dare pretend it wasn't?_

_

* * *

_

_Author's Note: I won't bore you with how many times I wrote and rewrote the second part of this chapter until I was satisfied with it. Suffice it to say I missed several hours' sleep over the past two nights getting it right. I just hope it wasn't wasted. Glad you're all enjoying._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	23. As Long As You Love Me

**Chapter 22**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast, or any of the characters._

"When Guinevere heard that Arthur was slain, she stole away to a convent. And no one could ever make her smile again. The end."

"That was a beautiful story," the Beast said after a pause.

Belle smiled with pleasure. "I knew you'd like it." Belle closed _Arthur and Guinevere_ and ran a finger fondly down the cover.

"I don't think Lancelot really loved Guinevere, though," the Beast remarked.

"What makes you say that?" asked Belle. "I agree with you, but I want to hear what you think."

"Lancelot was just obsessed with Guinevere. Yes, he did all sorts of brave feats for her, but he did those things because he thought she was beautiful. I wonder what would have happened if he'd seen someone prettier."

"That's interesting. I'd never thought of it that way," said Belle. "I have to admit, I used to wonder why Guinevere gave in. She and Arthur were so in love in the beginning of the story. They were fated to meet, and when they got married it was like a fairytale come true."

"Used to?" the Beast repeated gently.

"I think I understand her a little better now." Belle glanced down at her bulging stomach. "Attention like Lancelot paid to her…it's flattering, at first. You let it go on because it seems harmless. Then all of a sudden you find yourself in over your head, and no way back." She shuddered. "You wonder why you didn't say 'no' at the very beginning and end things before they went so far."

"You couldn't have known," the Beast said. His gruff voice was very quiet. "If you make a choice because you were naïve and terrible things happened because of it, there's no point in asking why you didn't see it coming. Thinking that way can drive you mad." His voice grew even quieter. "Trust me."

Belle looked at him. He had been to the brink of that madness; she could see it in his sad blue eyes. He understood, possibly better than anyone ever could, the feeling of regretting choices. She knew what he wasn't telling her: whatever choice he had made, it had cost him his humanity.

Her own eyes filled with tears. She tried to halt them, but without her permission those hot tears began to crawl down her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" The Beast looked alarmed, but for some reason Belle couldn't seem to stop. She buried her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle her sobs.

"Belle, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Please don't cry," the Beast begged.

"I'm s-sorry," she gulped. "I d-don't mean to…" Oh, how she wanted her father there, to put his arms around her and reassure her that everything would be all right the way he had when she was little. The thought of him only made her cry harder.

"Belle…" The Beast's voice was a gentle rumble. She felt a reluctant touch of fur to the cloth on her shoulder, as though he had reached out and then stopped himself at the last minute. That was enough. All she wanted was comfort. She turned and buried her face in his shoulder.

A distant part of her, the part that was still thinking rationally, felt him stiffen beneath her for a moment. Then, very, very slowly, his huge arms went around her. She almost disappeared into his embrace. She could feel how careful and gentle he was being to check his strength while still drawing her close. It was like being pulled beneath a warm blanket.

Just the way he smelled was somehow soothing. Strangely, he didn't smell like animal hair. The scent wasn't anything she recognized; sort of spicy, laced with hints of lemon and soap from his clothes. Belle could feel herself relaxing with every breath she took. Slowly, her sobs grew less. Even when she was almost finished crying, she found herself reluctant to draw away. She was so comfortable and warm, and it felt…it felt familiar, and _right_, to be in the Beast's arms. The thought wasn't even disturbing to her, though she had a vague sense that it should be.

She realized that her hair ribbon had slid out at some point, and the Beast was running one paw very carefully through her hair. The gesture was incredibly relaxing, and it felt wonderful. It was also 'safe,' in a way, because this was something Gaston had never tried to do with her. For some reason, her hair had never seemed to interest him much. The sensations were unique, and Belle stored the memory of them away deep within herself.

At last, she realized she had to pull away. Not that she wanted to, but the thought of what one of the servants might think were they to come in was enough to make her sit back.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, eyes on her lap. "I don't even know why I was crying…"

"Don't worry," the Beast reassured her. "Mrs. Potts warned me you might be easily upset sometimes. She said it's something that happens to, well…"

"Women in my condition," Belle finished. She sighed. "I don't see why it wouldn't be. Pregnancy has done all sorts of strange things to me. My nails are even growing faster than usual."

"Really?"

Belle held her fingers out. "I can't keep them trimmed to a reasonable length anymore. They're turning into—" She stopped. She'd been going to say 'claws,' but realized that might make him self-conscious. "—weapons," she chose instead.

He chuckled, then sobered. "Belle, are you sure you were crying over nothing? If something's bothering you, I…I want to know."

Belle opened her mouth to deny it, but stopped. Then she thought of a hundred smaller things she could say. Yes, she was growing more and more worried about the impending birth of her child, how much it would hurt, if the baby would look like Gaston. Yes, she hadn't been sleeping well for some time because the baby had his own ideas about when it was appropriate to be awake and active. Yes, the bigger she got—and she felt as though she were getting bigger every day now, practically—the more her back and legs ached. Yes, she still hadn't even begun to think of a suitable name. Yes, she missed her father terribly, ached to know if he was all right.

But none of those things was the real trouble. The real trouble was something she didn't even want to look at. And now here the Beast was, asking. Dare she give him what was feeding on her soul?

"Tell me," he said, as if reading her thoughts.

Belle wiped at her eyes with one sleeve. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Tell me anyway," he answered. Something in his expression reminded Belle that his past had horrors of its own.

"I don't even know how to start…"

"Is it about…what happened?" His eyes flicked to the baby.

How would he know to go straight to that? Belle felt her eyes filling again, but in a way, they were tears of relief that he had started for her. "I feel so guilty…if only I'd said no…there are times when I feel I brought it on myself."

"Didn't you? Say no, I mean?"

"Not at first. Gaston—that's his name, by the way, Gaston, I don't remember if I ever told you that. He had come in to have a drink. He brought me flowers, and I thought it was only polite, since he'd gone to the trouble of getting them and coming out to our cottage. My father was away for a few days, so I was alone.

"I was fixing the things for tea when I turned around and there he was, right next to me. I had a strange sense that he was too close.

""What are you doing?" I asked him, because he'd startled me.

""Nothing you haven't wanted for a long time," he said, and then he…he kissed me."

The Beast shifted beside her, but didn't comment.

"I tried to push him away, but he's very strong. I was bruised for several days afterward. I didn't even think about yelling—I was too shocked. By the time I finally realized what he was going to do…" She shuddered. "It was too late. I don't really remember a lot of detail. I know I didn't scream. It felt like my whole body was numb. It was too much; I couldn't take it in. Even after he got up, I couldn't move, couldn't do anything. I know he talked to me afterwards, even yelled once or twice, but I have no idea what he said. Eventually he left. I _do _remember him saying something to the effect of 'now I belonged to him.' That was what woke me up, as if from a horrible nightmare. I thought, I will be _damned_ if I ever belong to him."

The Beast snorted, possibly at her strong language. She didn't think she'd ever sworn in front of anyone before. But she was too lost in her own memories to find the energy to care.

"He wouldn't leave me alone after that. Kept on asking me to marry him. I did everything I could to discourage him. He'd tell me that I was being coy, and that he'd wait. He got angrier and angrier. Apparently he'd told his friends at the tavern that he was as good as married, or something like that. He thought I was shaming him in front of everyone.

"Then I realized I was pregnant." Belle barely recognized her own voice at this point. It was rough from crying and shaking slightly with pent-up emotion. She also realized that tears were slowly falling down her face. She hadn't even realized she'd started again. "That might have been the worst moment of my life. I knew that the child was his chance to own us both, for good. I considered going to the village midwife, to—" She stopped, not certain how to explain.

"Lumière once told me what that means," the Beast said, surprising her. Very gently, he asked, "Why didn't you?"

"In the first place, I realized it wouldn't solve my problem with Gaston. The midwife was one of the town gossips. She'd never hold onto to something as juicy as the aloof town beauty coming to her, and eventually it would get back to him. In the second place…" she thought back to that moment, placing a hand on her stomach as she did so, "…I couldn't. At the time, I just knew that deep down I didn't really want to. Now, I'm not sorry. The baby is my child, no matter what, and I love him. Even if he grows up to be the spitting image of his father, I don't care. I know I'll have moments like this, where it hurts to remember, especially since he'll probably be my only child. But I have to believe the love I feel when he moves inside me will last the rest of my life."

"What did you do then?" the Beast asked after a brief silence.

"I knew I had to protect the baby, no matter the cost. Papa was working on a big invention that he was going to show at a fair before the month was out. I planned that he'd have the money to move us someplace else when he came home."

"Did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him about any of it. I hid my bruises when he came home from the first trip and tried to act normally. He knew something was wrong, but eventually I think he put it down to my being ill while he was gone, or something like that. I was going to tell him the truth the moment he came back from the fair. I knew that if I told him beforehand, he'd worry so much that he'd never finish the invention in time.

"He left for the fair, and Gaston came to the house the next night. He said he'd gotten tired of me playing games with him, and that he'd arranged a wedding at the tavern. I had no _choice_." She spat the word out. The Beast winced, and Belle put a hand briefly on his paw to tell him this was not aimed at him.

"This time, I ran. I left the house with only a cloak and a little food. On the path, I met Philippe, without Papa, and I realized something had happened on the road. Eventually, we found our way here."

"I think I understand," the Beast said. His voice sounded dull for some reason. "You agreed to stay here in place of your father so you could get away from Gaston and the rest of the village while you had your child."

"In part," Belle agreed. "I'm not proud of it." She tried to smile. "I'm no saint, whatever you might have believed."

"You were protecting the baby," he pointed out. "And if we're talking about sainthood, I'm the last person to judge fitness. I put you in that situation in the first place." He took a deep breath. "I've been wanting to ask your forgiveness for what I did."

_He said 'person,'_ Belle thought distantly. Aloud, she said, "I forgave you a long time ago." She leaned back on the couch, thinking. "And maybe even if both of us did what we did for the wrong reasons, but I think good things have come out of it. Are you sorry we met?"

"Never."

"I'm not sorry, either."

They sat silently for a few minutes. Belle closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. She hadn't moved very far, and it was easy to lean over a little and put her head on the Beast's shoulder. This time, he didn't stiffen, or even seem very surprised. For herself, Belle couldn't believe how relaxed she felt. It was as if a knot in her chest had loosened, and she could take a deep breath for the first time in months. The pain and the fear from what Gaston had done were by no means gone, but they had diminished to a bearable distance.

The baby nudged Belle, and through her, the Beast, who happened to be touching that side of her. She could feel him shift to look down.

"I felt that," he said.

"Mm-hm," Belle answered dreamily, still keeping her eyes closed. "The baby's strong. He's been keeping me up at night with his bouncing around. Maybe that's why I got so upset."

"You have reason to be upset."

She didn't respond. A minute or two more of silence, then the Beast, said, "Belle?" She could hear the hesitancy in his voice.

"Mmmm?"

"Are you…do you…" Now she could almost _feel_ his struggle for words.

She sat up to look him in the face. "Yes?"

"I…you said earlier that you didn't think Lancelot really loved Guinevere, but I don't think you ever said why."

"Oh." Belle got the impression that this was not really what he had intended to say. However, he looked so uncomfortable that she elected to humor the abrupt subject shift. She'd just told him a lot. Maybe he was having trouble absorbing it, and was switching to a safer topic in order to cope. She could understand that.

"I always thought love was more than just showing it by doing things to honor the other person," she said. "Lancelot sets out to prove his love by defeating knights, dragons, and so on, and bringing trophies back to Guinevere. But in the end, it's Arthur who is willing to forgive all of her past betrayal. I wonder if Lancelot would have had the courage to do that if he had been her husband instead."

"So Arthur is the better man because he lets his wife betray him?"

Belle shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. Arthur is heartbroken when he finds out about Lancelot and Guinevere. But he declares that if Guinevere is happier with someone else, he'll accept it, because he loves her enough to let her go if that's what she wants. Lancelot is more interested in his own desires, and keeping Guinevere in his castle as another prize. Guinevere realizes in the end who really loves her more, and returns to Arthur to beg forgiveness just before he rides off for his last battle. Arthur at least dies knowing that his hope that she would one day come back to him has been fulfilled, even if Guinevere can never quite forgive herself for not realizing what she had until it was lost. I think that's why she stays in the convent for the rest of her life, although the book doesn't give a reason.

"I once read that true love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. It isn't selfish, and doesn't keep a record of wrongs done. Faced with those criteria, it's Arthur's love that is the enduring kind." She smiled, feeling the tear-dried skin of her face protest the motion. "That was a long speech. I didn't mean for it to turn into such a sermon."

"It's all right. I got your meaning."

They were silent again, but this time the silence was slightly uncomfortable, for reasons unknown to Belle. Eventually, however, the Beast said, "I've been thinking. Now that we're done with _Arthur and Guinevere_, maybe you could help me choose another book."

"Of course. I've found lots of good books here. Or, if you're feeling adventurous, we could pick one of the ones I've never seen before."

"Uh…"

Belle laughed. "All right. We'll stick to ones that I've read."

"And liked."

"And liked. I promise." She took one paw and led him over to the shelves.

---

Later, as she lay in bed trying to sleep that night, she thought about that awkward silence, and what had brought it on. And she wondered what he had been going to say but hadn't managed to get out.

_

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter is about as graphic as you will ever see from me. If I made anyone uncomfortable, I apologize. I rated the story M for a reason. I felt like this was something that needed to be aired between Belle and the Beast in order for them to really cement the trust that has developed between them._

_You might have noticed that a lot of my chapters have titles now. They're all song titles, and I picked them because the theme of the song fits the chapter. I will credit them all at the end of the story in my acknowledgements._

_Speaking of acknowledgements, Belle's criterion for true love is paraphrased out of 1 Corinthians 13._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	24. Kiss the Girl

**Chapter 23**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast, or its characters._

The Beast was still annoyed with himself days later. He'd been so close, so very close. He and Belle had been talking about love, of all things. He had nearly asked her that one thing he so desperately wanted to know: "Do you love me?"

He couldn't do it. His courage had failed him. Even after she'd confided in him her painful secret of the night she'd been raped—that she blamed herself, despite the facts pointing to none of it being her fault. Even after he'd held her close, with her knowledge and consent, for the first time. She fit into his arms as if made to be there always.

He'd even started the sentence. And then a vision had flashed before his eyes of her looking horrified at his question. Not necessarily because he was a Beast. No, he feared her horror because it would mean she knew he loved her, but she didn't love him back. Their relationship would forever change the moment the question left him. Thereupon the words had died in his mouth, and he'd changed the subject. As always, Belle had gracefully humored him, and the chance was gone.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be human again. Oh, no. He wanted badly to be a true match for Belle in every way; someone who could at least make an attempt to be the man she deserved. But even if she did say she loved him and he changed back, what then? Would she still love him, or did she love him now—if she did love him now—precisely because he wasn't a human male, and therefore somehow 'safe?'

"Trust her," the enchantress had said in his dream. Belle herself had said that true love always trusted, and always persevered. He should ask her. There was every reason to ask her. He only had a week left, now.

He still couldn't do it.

Every time they were together, he was trying to work himself up to ask. It had gotten to the point where Belle had actually asked him straight out if there was anything wrong. He'd assured her there wasn't, but he'd taken more care to hide his inner turmoil since she'd asked. He had to wonder if he was fooling her, though. He knew from reading her book she noticed far more than she ever let on.

"Beast?"

He turned around, and there she was in the doorway of the library. Even three weeks or so from giving birth, he still thought she was beautiful. Her brown hair especially gleamed so that he just wanted to do nothing but run his claws through it. She was so big that he was sometimes surprised that the baby didn't just pop out of her. Often now she'd stand with one hand on her belly and the other on her back, eyes closed as if listening.

"Yes?"

She smiled and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Surely you haven't forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?" he asked, suddenly terrified he'd made her a promise and didn't remember doing so.

Belle chuckled. "Nothing important. We just agreed we were going to read a little before bed, and I was coming to find you."

"What's so funny, then?" he demanded.

"You. From the look on your face, you'd have thought you'd forgotten my name, not just a meeting to read."

"I'd never forget your name." He was indignant.

"Of course not. Never mind." She took a step forward, then paused. "Are you certain nothing's bothering you? You've been acting very…distracted…recently."

So she had noticed. The Beast restrained a wince. "No. Everything's fine."

"We can read some other time, if you want," she offered.

"No!" he said, a little too loudly. She blinked, and he hastily went on, "No, we can read now."

"All right. If you're sure." She came forward to fetch the book from its place on the table.

What was wrong with him? She was right, he'd been tense around her for days. If he kept it up, she'd think it had something to do with her. Which it didn't. Well, it sort of did, but mostly the problem was he just couldn't force himself to ask a simple question, and it was frustrating him.

_Just get it over with!_ he ordered himself. But like the problem he had once had with wanting to destroy the rose, he couldn't force a single muscle to obey his command.

In the meantime, Belle had sat on the couch, and he'd sat beside her without realizing it. She had already started the book, having either not noticed his fidgets or chosen to ignore them. Probably the latter.

They were reading _Robinson Crusoe_, and the Beast was thoroughly enjoying it. There was no romance, since it was about a man stranded alone on an island, but it was full of adventure and danger, and he knew a lot about being alone and lonely. The Beast soon found himself relaxing into the story. When it was his turn to read, he took the book eagerly. Not many pages in, he felt Belle's head drifting onto his shoulder. He shifted so that he could put an arm around her, and she put her head on his chest. Within a minute or two, he felt the change in her posture that told him she was asleep.

He stopped reading. Instantly, she raised her head a little. "Why'd you stop?" she asked fuzzily.

"You fell asleep."

"No, I didn't. I was just resting."

The Beast was inclined to disbelieve her, but he didn't argue. He started reading again. Belle was soon asleep, and he stopped, fearful of disturbing her.

"I did it again, didn't I?" asked Belle.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry." She yawned. "It's just, I haven't been sleeping well. It's so hard to get comfortable with this." She patted her huge belly. "And now…I can't help it. Your voice is so soothing, and for once I actually am comfortable. Just keep reading, even if I fall asleep again."

"All right." He swallowed. "Belle?"

"Hmmm?"

She was already half asleep. "Never mind." He continued to read. He read even as Belle's head drooped lower, and she relaxed even further. He read until his own eyes felt heavy. He put the book aside and closed his eyes for a moment…

"Master?"

"What?" The Beast jerked awake. Lumière was standing a few feet away. The candelabra's head and arm-branches were the only light in the room. He hopped closer.

"You fell asleep, Master," Lumière whispered in an almost conspiratorial tone. "You and the girl."

The Beast looked down. Belle was practically in his lap. She seemed to have crept there somehow after he'd fallen asleep himself. On her face was the same happy smile she'd worn when he'd carried her to bed a few weeks ago. His heart fluttered at the sight.

He thought at once of carrying her again, but first he had to get up. In maneuvering her off his lap he woke her. Luckily, she was already mostly on the couch, and by the time she opened her eyes he'd already stood.

She looked at him, and then at Lumière. "I suppose it's time for bed." She sighed, as if disappointed. She moved a little so that her legs were firmly planted on the floor, then tried to stand. She couldn't manage it. She held out her hands to the Beast. "Can you help me, please?"

Very gently, he took both her delicate hands in his paws and pulled her to her feet. Once there, she was able to make the walk back to her room unaided, though the Beast and Lumière stayed with her the entire time. Mrs. Potts met them halfway, en route to the library herself to search for them. They all saw Belle to her room, where she gave them a last "Good night," and shut the door.

Lumière and Mrs. Potts accompanied the Beast to the West Wing, unasked. As soon as they were there, Lumière burst out, "You are in love with the girl, are you not, Master?"

"I…" This was the first time the Beast had had to say it aloud, and he found himself unprepared.

Mrs. Potts figured it out before he could say anything. "After all this time," she sighed.

"That's it, then!" Lumière could hardly contain his excitement. He was practically shooting off sparks. "That should break the spell!"

"Stop it, Lumière," Mrs. Potts scolded. "It's not enough. She has to love him in return."

"Doesn't she?" Lumière looked genuinely surprised.

"If she did, we'd be human again," Mrs. Potts pointed out.

"But you didn't see them in the library." Lumière shot the Beast a suggestive look that made him blush hot under his fur.

"It wasn't like that…" he protested.

"Bah, but it is a beginning, no? She would not sleep so…close…if she felt nothing," Lumière said confidently. The Beast flushed again and looked away. Lumière smiled. "No need to be ashamed, Master. That you feel such things for the girl can mean nothing but good."

"If you love our Belle, why haven't you told her?" asked Mrs. Potts. "Or asked if she loves you?"

"I've tried!" the Beast burst out. All his frustration came bubbling to the surface. "I've been trying for _days!_ But every time, I start I…I can't. I can't make the words come out."

"But you _must_ tell her! You don't have time to be timid," Lumière insisted. He gestured at the rose. "You have barely a week to make your feelings known if we are ever to be free! You must be bold, daring."

"Bold, daring," the Beast repeated, as if saying the words would somehow endow him with their properties.

"We'll help you, Master," Mrs. Potts said. "But you must find the courage to ask Belle yourself. I do think she feels very strongly for you. She may not even realize it."

"What makes you say that?"

"Master," Mrs. Potts replied sternly, "Belle has trusted you with her deepest secrets, things she won't even tell us. She did tell me _about_ the conversation you two had, but not the details. That alone speaks volumes about the depth of her feelings. Isn't it time you trusted her with yours?"

_That_ made the Beast feel ashamed. Belle had told him things she hadn't even told her father, the person she was closest to in the world. Did that mean…?

"How can you help me?" he asked in a resigned voice.

"We can create the _mood_," Lumière answered with a grin. "Tonight. We will prepare a special dinner. There will be music. Romantic candlelight, provided by myself. And when the moment is right, you confess your love."

Just thinking about it made the Beast feel a little more confident. "But how will I know when the moment is right?"

"You will feel it _here_," Lumière said, placing a candle to his midsection.

"In your heart," Mrs. Potts clarified. "And when that moment comes, you must speak from the heart as well."

"I'll try," the Beast said, more decisively than he felt. "Alert Cogsworth and Monsieur Joli, please. Oh, and Belle, too."

"Of course, Master." Lumière bowed low, and he and Mrs. Potts left to get things ready.

---

That night, the Beast waited nervously in the dining room for Belle. He was reminded of that night—how long ago that felt!—back in October when he'd waited for her in the same room, and she had refused to come. Things had changed so much since then.

He hadn't really gotten dressed up, though he had found a blue tailcoat in his wardrobe that would fit his Beastly size. But, knowing that Belle wouldn't have anything to match that would fit, he had selected more ordinary clothes. The ballgown he'd given her for Christmas was waiting until after the baby came. The tailcoat could wait, too.

There was a tap at the door, and Cogsworth came in. His grin stretched to both sides of his face as he said, "Your lady has arrived, Your Highness."

The Beast blinked at the title. The enchantress had called him 'Your Highness' in his dream, but that had had a tinge of mockery to it. From anyone in the real world, he hadn't heard it in years. And he knew that for Cogsworth to call him that, it must be sincerely meant. The clock's limited sense of humor did not extend to mocking unless Lumière was involved.

Then the door opened and Belle came in, and the Beast forgot everything else. Like him, she wore relatively ordinary clothes: a pink dress cut to accommodate the baby that he'd seen her wear several times before. However, instead of her usual simple style, Madame had piled Belle's gleaming hair on her head, leaving some to stream down her back. The effect made the Beast's mouth go dry.

"You…you look wonderful," he managed to spit out.

Belle flushed a little and looked down. "Thank you. You look…good too. I haven't seen your hair like that before."

Now it was the Beast's turn to flush. His mane had been tamed enough to tie a horsetail at the base of his neck, a style he remembered wearing before he'd been transformed. "Lumière insisted," was what he said aloud.

"Lumière is usually right about things like that," Belle smiled. She hadn't moved from the doorway, and the Beast suddenly remembered his manners. He came up and offered her an arm with a bow. Belle spread her skirts and dipped just enough to suggest a curtsy without endangering her balance, and took the arm. The Beast led her to her chair, marveling as he did how she somehow still managed to carry herself with grace and dignity even when she had to be very uncomfortable. She deserved to be called 'Your Highness' right now, not him. He vowed to treat her as such the whole evening.

Everything went smoothly. They didn't talk much while dinner was on the table, though Belle complimented the Beast on his use of utensils. He'd been practicing sliding a spoon past his teeth privately for awhile but hadn't dared to show her the skill until now. As Lumière had promised, gentle music and candlelight created a very relaxed, elegant background. The Beast made a mental note to compliment the candelabra later.

When the meal was over, they went to the parlor and sat together in front of the roaring fire. Belle settled in close, and again the Beast put an arm around her with no objection from her. The warmth from the fire seemed to pale against the warmth and contentment inside him. And the Beast knew it was time. Speak from the heart.

"Belle…" he began, "Are you happy here?"

"Of course!" Belle replied. "Everyone here has been so kind, far beyond what I could ever ask for, or deserve. I couldn't think of a better place to raise my child." She paused.

"What is it?"

"It's just…so many times, I wish I could see my father again. Just for a moment, so that I could know he's all right."

The idea hit the Beast like lightning. He forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Why hadn't he thought of this before? "There _is_ a way."

"What?" Belle sat bolt upright, and twisted around as much as she could to look at him.

"Come on." He helped her up, and led her upstairs.

Belle hesitated when they reached the West Wing corridor, seeing where they were. "Are you sure…?"

The Beast just pulled her along. Belle stared around with wide eyes once they entered his suite. He noticed she seemed particularly drawn to the shredded portrait of him as he used to look before the transformation, but he was too excited by his idea to really think about it. He just drew her past it to the table with the rose. As usual, the mirror sat beside it.

"Here." The Beast handed it to her. Belle turned it around in her hands, eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't understand. It's just my reflection."

"The mirror shows anything you wish to see. You just have to ask." He watched joy and comprehension dawn in her eyes.

"I'd like to see my father, please," she requested. The mirror shone, and she glanced away briefly. When she looked again, the eagerness in her eyes dimmed and turned to horror.

"Papa!"

_

* * *

Disclaimer: I'd intended to skip what would have been the ballroom scene entirely because I thought it would be too tough to write with a heavily pregnant Belle. Either I'm more ingrained with the Disney story than I ever realized, or my characters had other ideas. I'd like to think it's the latter. I hope it wasn't too short._

_We're on the downhill track now. This was the last big hump that I didn't really have planned. I have the rest of the story mapped out pretty well from here. Whee!_

_At the moment, I'm snowed in with a record-breaking storm that has dumped about three feet of snow on us in almost exactly twenty-four hours (not an exaggeration). So today I had a lot of time to write when I should be doing my homework. I hope to continue being able to write and work on my computer, but if we lose power I will instead be concentrating on staying warm in a house without heat. No predictions. Pray to whatever deity you believe in for all of us stuck in this blizzard, especially anybody without power. I sure am._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	25. If I Never Knew You

**Chapter 24**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or any of its characters._

"What's wrong?" the Beast asked. The fear, and the longing, on Belle's face was terrible to behold.

"It's Papa," Belle explained, clutching the mirror and still staring into it. "He's out in the woods! He's all alone! And he's…he's sick. He may be dying. Oh, Papa!" She looked away, and the mirror darkened. The Beast rescued it before it fell from her hands. He put it carefully back on the table.

Belle was sobbing now. "I...I should…go…"

"No, Belle. You can't." Belle's head snapped up, and there was unmistakable anger in her eyes. He hadn't seen her angry with him in a long time. He wanted to step back, but he held his ground and met her eyes with his. "Belle, listen to me. It isn't because of the promise you made to stay here. We both know that was wrong. You haven't been my prisoner for some time. I would have let you go whenever you asked, if you'd truly wanted to leave. But you can't go now."

"Why not? My father _needs_ me."

"Yes, but Belle, you're just weeks away from having the baby. You can hardly stand up without help. How can you help him right now?"

"I'll hitch Philippe to a cart," Belle said, but the fight had gone out of her the moment he'd mentioned the baby. "I'll find my father and bring him back here to get better."

"I'll go for you, then."

"No!"

"You think I can't?" His own temper was rising now.

"No, of course not." Belle sighed. Her shoulders slumped. "We both need to calm down and think about this. The last time Papa saw you, you were dragging him out of the castle. You're a monster to him. What do you think would happen if he saw you again, but this time when he's alone and probably delirious with fever?"

She had a point. The Beast growled in frustration. "I can send some of the servants…"

"The ones that can leave the castle would never be able to get Papa into a cart if he's hurt or unconscious. I at least have a chance, and he knows me. He loves me. I have to go."

The Beast studied her. He didn't want to let her go, and not only because he feared for her safety, and the baby's. He still hadn't asked her how she felt about him. If she left now, precious time would disappear. Or she might never come back. Once she had her father, they might go somewhere else for him to recover. He'd never see her again. Like his parents.

No. He knew Belle. She had already said, without him asking, that she would come back. Even if it meant he'd be a Beast forever, he'd never forgive himself if he kept Belle here against her will. He knew the look in Belle's eyes. If he'd been given such a chance to save his father, or his mother, he would have taken it in a heartbeat no matter what anyone else said.

He would have to trust her.

"Go, then." He turned away, but of course the rose was there. _Six days._

"Beast…"

He winced, though it had never bothered him before that she had no other name for him. He'd barely remembered—until tonight—that he _had_ another name. He swallowed hard. "Go. Take Lumière with you at least—his candles won't go out unless he lets them."

"Thank you." Her footsteps started towards the door. They paused about halfway, then started again. The door creaked open.

He whirled. "Belle, wait!"

"Yes?" Her face was lit from the back, so it was impossible to read her expression.

"I…"

"Yes?"

"Take this with you, too." He picked the mirror off the table and brought it to her. "That way you'll find him much faster."

"I…thank you." She studied his face. "Thank you for understanding how much he needs me." One slender hand came up to touch his face, to very gently stroke the fur. How he wished he could feel it skin-on-skin. For a second he contemplated pulling her in close, of whispering in her ear that he loved her, and to come back soon. But then she turned, and made her way out the door.

---

It took more time than Belle would have liked to leave the castle. All of the servants were inclined to argue when she announced her plans. Lumière would not have agreed to come at all if she hadn't said the Beast had suggested it.

"I cannot believe the Master would agree to such a plan," the candelabra grumbled.

"He didn't like it, either. But this is the only way," said Belle as she pulled on as many warm clothes as Madame could find on short notice.

"And he's not coming himself?" asked Mrs. Potts. "I don't like the idea of just you and Lumière out there alone, with the baby coming so soon."

"He wanted to, but Papa would be terrified at seeing him again. He doesn't know the Beast like we do yet." She refused to believe that there wouldn't be a 'yet.' They'd find Maurice. He'd get better, with time and attention. He'd see how much the Beast had changed from the monster they had both first met.

"I do not approve of this, either, but the girl is right. We have no choice but to act if we are to bring Belle back as quickly as possible," announced Cogsworth, surprising everyone. "And I choose to support her in whatever way this household can supply," the clock added pompously.

"And I, too," Lumière said with a glare at Cogsworth. "I will go to the stables and alert them, _mademoiselle_. Meet me there when you are ready."

"Belle, dear, are you _sure_ you want to do this?" asked Mrs. Potts as Belle started for the door.

"There's no other way." Belle swallowed back the tears that had been gathering ever since she'd looked in the Beast's mirror. "I have to save him."

"Very well," Mrs. Potts sighed. "Come back soon. And when you get back, we'll take care of your father. You need as much rest as you can to prepare for the birth. I still don't like any of this, but I suppose we have no choice. Belle, please, be careful. For your sake, and for the sake of your child."

"I will. Thank you for everything, Mrs. Potts."

Belle made her slow way down to the stables, where Lumière was waiting as promised. Philippe had been hitched to a very fine open carriage. Since it was nearly April, the snow had gone, but it was still cold and the roads would be muddy.

"I hope you don't mind getting this beautiful carriage dirty," Belle said to Lumière.

Lumière shrugged. "This is the carriage best suited to our needs. It will be worth a little mud if we can find your father quickly and bring him back."

"Are you ready, Belle?" The Beast stood at the door to the castle.

"Yes, I think so." He came forward and helped her negotiate getting into the driver's seat. This took several minutes, and Belle wondered what she would do when they actually found her father and she had to do this without the Beast's powerful arms to steady her. That would be a problem to be worked out later. She couldn't think about all the obstacles or Maurice would never be safe. Lumière hopped up beside her, and she took the reins firmly.

"Let's go find Papa, Philippe."

The horse snorted and started forward. As the carriage rolled out, Belle turned back to blow the Beast a kiss. He just stood there, watching them go, shoulders slumped.

Belle had expected to be able to think about nothing but her father as they made their way through the woods. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to the Beast. _Why_ was he acting as if her leaving was the end of the world? The expression on his face in the West Wing, and as the carriage pulled away, had been something akin to heartbreak. Yet he had argued much less than she'd expected with her decision to go. It was a puzzle she couldn't figure out.

His face. Maybe it was finally seeing the portrait again after all these months and really knowing what it meant. Or maybe because she'd never seen such a tender and sad expression from him before. But suddenly, as he had been handing her the mirror to take with her, she had seen a glimpse of the human face behind the hair and fangs. The man inside the monster. For a wild moment, she wanted to stretch up to kiss his cheek, to tell him that everything would be all right, that there was no reason to look so miserable. But she didn't think she could reach that far without overbalancing. Instead, she put her hand right where she wanted to place her lips. She hoped the gesture would tell him everything she wanted to say.

"Perhaps we should consult the mirror," Lumière suggested, breaking into her thoughts.

"Good idea," Belle agreed. She drew Philippe to a stop, pulled out the mirror, and requested, "I want to see my father again, please." It showed Maurice huddled in the trunk of a half-fallen tree. "Can it show more if I ask it to?"

Lumière peered around her. "I believe so, but I am not certain. Only the Master has used it until now."

"Can you show me how to get there?" Belle asked the mirror. Immediately it shone again, then cleared to reveal an image of the path ahead of them. The scene began moving forward until it reached a fork in the road. Then it turned left down the smaller of the two paths.

"We're going the right way," Belle said happily, setting the mirror down and flicking Philippe's reins. "I'll ask again once we've passed the fork in the road."

"There's a fork in the road?" Lumière peered ahead at the gloomy, drooping trees. "A useful guide, this mirror."

"How long has the Beast had it?" Belle asked curiously.

"I am not certain. It appeared one day," replied Lumière with a vague shrug. Belle would have liked very much to ask whether it had been ten years, but decided against it. Even after all these months, no one in the castle knew how much she had guessed about their past. She planned to keep it that way until she knew more. Such as how that rose was tied in. And, most importantly, how to change them all back. None of them deserved to be trapped this way forever.

As expected, the fork in the road loomed ahead. Belle took the left and then pulled out the mirror again. In this way the mirror led them for the next hour or so, to a nearly-forgotten side trail that was heavily overgrown. Belle eased herself out of the carriage, tied Philippe to a convenient tree, and then lifted Lumière and the mirror down. Less than ten minutes of walking brought them to the fallen tree.

"Papa?" Belle asked, peering inside. A weak cough was her answer.

"He is there!" Lumière cried.

"Papa, come out. We're here to take you home," Belle coaxed. She took his arm, feeling with dismay how cold and damp his skin was.

"There are blankets in the carriage, if we can get him there," Lumière said.

"Oh, thank you, Lumière. You think of everything," answered Belle. Gently, she guided Maurice out of the log and onto his feet. He swayed dangerously but managed to stand. Belle was horrified at the state he was in. He'd lost a great deal of weight, so much that he was practically skin and bones. His clothes were tattered, and she could see the flush of fever on his face.

"Oh, Papa." She hugged him close. What had she been thinking, abandoning him like this? But at least he was alive. "Come on. We'll get you someplace warm and safe."

His eyes focused on her for a fraction of a second. "Belle?" he whispered.

"Yes, Papa, I'm here."

"I've missed you, Belle. Your hair's gotten longer." He reached up with trembling fingers to rub some of her brown locks.

If that was all he noticed, Belle was glad. She wasn't sure how he'd react to her pregnancy, if it had taken him this long to even recognize her. "Come on. Can you walk? We've got to get you out of here."

They began to stagger together back towards the carriage. Lumière led the way, his three candles burning bravely against the darkness.

"That light is moving," Maurice muttered when they were about halfway there.

"It's here to help us," Belle answered shortly. She was getting out of breath from half-carrying her father and trying to keep her balance at the same time, and didn't feel up to explaining. Maurice seemed to accept this, as he didn't say anything else until they reached the carriage. Belle handed Lumière up to the driver's seat first, then passed him the mirror. Then she moved to lead her father to the carriage door. It was as she turned that he first brushed her huge belly.

Belle tensed, waiting. Maurice looked at her, down at her stomach, and then back at her. He broke into a huge smile that stretched the skin of his face to almost skull-like proportions. He put a hand on her belly and rubbed it back and forth a few times. "Why, yes, Celeste, the baby's going to be beautiful," he said, as if in answer to a question. "You look beautiful, too." He kissed her cheek.

"T-thank you," stammered Belle. "Can you climb into the carriage? We should be going." Maurice complied, and Belle tucked as many of the blankets as she could around him. Before she was finished he was dozing. Grimly, she went back to the front of the carriage.

"How is he?" asked Lumière anxiously.

"He thinks I'm my mother, pregnant with me," Belle answered. "Which I guess is better than him being horrified, at the moment. It gives me time to explain when he can really understand. It is somewhat unnerving, though."

"He'll understand when he is better," Lumière assured her. "It is the fever talking. He doesn't really know what he's saying."

"I know." Belle wiped a few tears away. "My mother was the same, at the end. She thought I was my own grandmother for two days."

"Don't think like that, _chérie_," soothed Lumière. "Come, we must be going."

Now was the moment Belle had been dreading. She took the driver's seat firmly in her hands and tried to hoist herself up. It was no good. She was too heavy. Even bracing herself against one wheel only gained her a few inches before she felt the weight of the baby throwing her off.

"This could take some time," she panted to Lumière.

"You look like you could use some help, Belle," said a deep voice from behind her.

Belle whirled around, staggered, and nearly fell. She had to clutch the coach in both hands to stay on her feet. Heart sinking, she dared to look at the man who had spoken. Her knees nearly gave out again.

It was Gaston.

_

* * *

Author's Note: Dun dun dun! No surprises there, really. He had to pop back up eventually._

_Still snowed in, which means I have plenty of time to write. We lost power once for a few hours, and I'm hoping it doesn't happen again. I'm starting to get a little cabin fever. Curses, snow, I want my life back!!_

_The story has passed 150 reviews. Hooray! I always enjoy hearing from you all._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	26. I Will Survive

**Chapter 25**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

_Can things get any worse?_ wondered Belle. She had hoped never to see Gaston again. To see him now when she was practically helpless felt far too much like the dream she'd had several months ago, where she had first realized the Beast's identity.

The Beast had rescued her—sort of—in that dream. For a second, Belle wished she had listened to him and allowed him to come with her. Or that he would come and save her as he had when she encountered the wolves. Then she wished him a thousand miles away. Gaston hunted large, powerful animals for a living. Gaston had both his gun and bow with him. It was all too easy to imagine the outcome of such a confrontation.

Gaston began to stride towards her. Belle shrank back, noticing for the first time that Lefou was there as well. She didn't expect any help from him; he always did what Gaston told him.

Gaston stopped a few feet away. He looked Belle up and down. His lip curled as he took in her pregnancy. Belle tried desperately to sink into the cold state she'd always felt whenever she saw Gaston after he'd raped her. It wouldn't come. That safety net was gone. She could no longer pretend she felt nothing when she looked at him.

Her mind wheeled in panic. Her mental protections were gone, shattered by months of feeling safe in the castle. All of her fear, and yes, burning anger, were plain to see on her face. What would Gaston do to her?

"How could you, Belle?" Gaston demanded. "You know you belong to me. Yet you went and gave yourself to another man. How could you betray me like this?"

He still hadn't guessed he was the father! Belle looked down to hide her relief.

Gaston took both of her arms, pinning her against the carriage. "Who is it?" he demanded.

"Who?" Belle managed.

"The man! The man who took what's mine! Tell me!" He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth a little.

Belle was half-tempted to tell the truth. But only for an instant. If she told, and Gaston believed her, she was sentencing herself and her unborn child to even worse than rattling teeth. She clenched them together and shook her head.

"Tell me!" Gaston shook her harder. Belle's head hit the carriage hard enough to hurt.

An image of the Beast suddenly popped into her head. He had always been there to protect her against her nightmares. She drew the thought of him around her like a cloak of security.

Miraculously, the fear and even the anger began to slide away. Belle held the image in her mind of the Beast's face as she'd last seen it: caught somewhere between concern and sorrow, human and animal. He cared about her and the baby, far more than Gaston was ever likely to do.

"I don't know his name," she lied.

"Are you sure?" Gaston demanded, leaning down to look her in the eye.

Belle looked straight back. "I'm sure." She couldn't believe how calm she felt. She wriggled a little higher against the coach. "Let me go, Gaston. I have to get my father somewhere warm before he gets worse."

He let go and stepped back, but the sneer remained on his face. "You think I've waited all these months for you to reappear to let you out of my sight again?"

"How did you know I wasn't dead in the woods somewhere?" Belle asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I was afraid when your trail disappeared," Gaston admitted. So he _had_ tracked her. "Don't you know how dangerous that was, Belle? Anything could have happened to you."

"It seemed a better alternative than being forced to marry you," said Belle, reveling a bit in her newfound boldness. "Gaston, please. Doesn't all this prove to you that we're not right for each other? I'll get back in the carriage and leave now. You won't ever see me again. You can find someone more worthy of you. Just let me go."

"I always get what I want in the end, Belle. You—and everyone else—has to learn that. Am I right, Lefou?"

"Right, Gaston," repeated Lefou dutifully.

"As I was saying," Gaston continued grandly, "I was afraid something had happened to my future bride. I searched all night, while the whole village waited to celebrate the wedding. And then, just when I had given up hope, your father appeared in the tavern."

Belle glanced at her father, huddled beneath his blankets. She noticed a flash of gold out of the corner of her eye. So Lumière had wisely hidden himself somewhere in the carriage.

"He was raving like a lunatic," said Gaston. "Something about you being the prisoner of a Beast in a castle." The huge man chuckled. "He had obviously lost his mind. There are no Beasts like the one he described in these woods. I would have seen the footprints. And you a _prisoner_ of such a creature—in a dungeon? The idea is laughable."

Belle said nothing, which Gaston seemed to take for agreement. "So what else could I do? I had him committed."

"You _what_?" gasped Belle.

"Monsieur D'Arc of the Maison des Lunes took charge of him that night."

"And he's been there ever since? Oh, Papa!" Belle climbed into the carriage without realizing how she did so, and clutched her father close under his blankets. "I'm so sorry, Papa," she whispered. No wonder he was so thin! That was the work of the past months, not just his current illness.

"I was certain if your father was in the Maison, you would reappear, especially since he kept insisting you were alive. But you didn't come back. Your father stuck to his story despite Monsieur D'Arc's best efforts to convince him there was no Beast."

Belle shuddered and pulled Maurice closer. Monsieur D'Arc was not known for being kind to his patients.

"Eventually, your father escaped, claiming he was going to search for the castle and rescue you. That was two days ago. Lefou and I have been tracking him since then." He rubbed his chin. "The old man's smarter than I gave him credit for. Led us a good chase. Interesting that you should appear now, after all these months, just when we were about to find him."

"I wish I'd come sooner," said Belle, "if I'd known you were torturing him just to get at me."

"'Torturing?'" Gaston repeated. "Your father needs help. He was claiming you were a _prisoner._ In a _dungeon_. You weren't, were you?"

"No!"

"And there is no Beast, is there?" Gaston pressed.

Belle hesitated. She didn't want to bring the Beast into this anymore than she had to. But if she told Gaston there was no Beast, she would not only be confirming her father's insanity, but telling an even bigger lie. She wasn't sure how many she could sustain without Gaston getting suspicious.

"There is a Beast," said Belle. "I can't deny it. My father is telling the truth about that."

Gaston stared, and even Lefou looked astonished. "Well!" said Gaston after a moment. "I can see the old man is a bad influence on you, Belle. It won't keep us from taking him back to the Maison des Lunes, where he belongs. You, maybe some time with me to show you the truth will cure you." He started towards the carriage.

"No!" Belle wailed. "My father's not crazy, and neither am I! And I can prove it!" She began rummaging around on the driver's seat of the carriage for the mirror.

"Mademoiselle!" Lumière's voice hissed at her from somewhere nearby. "What are you doing?"

"It's the only way. You heard him," Belle whispered back. Her fingers found the mirror's handle, and she pulled it towards her. "Show me the Beast!" she commanded. The mirror shone with its magic, and an image of the Beast's face appeared. From the background, she could tell he was in the West Wing. Even seeing him this way brought her comfort in the midst of her panic. She turned the mirror defiantly to show the approaching Gaston.

He halted. His mouth dropped open for an instant, and then his eyes narrowed. Lefou, beside him, looked terrified.

"What is _that_?" Gaston demanded.

"This is the Beast. I've been in his castle these last few months. He's been very kind to me." Belle turned the mirror again so that she could see him.

The next thing she knew, the mirror was seized from her hands. "_Him_?" Gaston demanded. He looked from the image in the mirror, to her, and back. His face twisted in disgust. "This monster is…"

"He's no monster, Gaston," Belle snarled. Her anger blazed up, and suddenly she felt like the Beast in one of his—now rare—rages. "_You_ are. The Beast is more of a man than you'll ever be."

"You—" Gaston was in the carriage with one hand around her throat before she could blink. Belle closed her eyes and waited for him to squeeze, or snap her neck.

"Gaston…" came Lefou's nervous, confused voice, breaking the tension. Immediately, Gaston released Belle and backed away a step.

"You really _are_ crazy, just like the old man," Gaston said to Belle. He was still staring at her in abject disgust and rage. "You've betrayed me with that…that thing. But maybe there's still time to show you the error of your ways." He hoisted himself into the driver's seat of the carriage. Belle started to climb out, and Gaston turned. "Leave me from now on, and I send your father back to the Maison. Stay, and we'll keep him close. Never say I'm not a generous man." Belle sat back down with a plop. "Come on, Lefou," Gaston added. Lefou climbed in beside Belle and Maurice, and Gaston flicked Philippe's reins hard. The horse whinnied in protest, but began to pull.

Helpless tears began to wind down Belle's cheeks. In trying to protect herself, her child, and her father, she had only managed to make more mistakes and put them all in greater danger. "I wish you were here, Beast," she whispered as the carriage rolled towards the village. "But I hope you stay away; I couldn't bear to lose you, too."

_

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry about the short chapter. It was either that or a super-long chapter, but I'm still working some plot kinks out so I want to see what you think of this segment first. The faster you review and tell me whether this section makes sense or not, the faster the next chapter (which is guaranteed to be longer) gets posted!_

_Happy Valentine's Day (though this is about as far from a Valentine's chapter as you can get)_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	27. Far From the Home I Love

**Chapter 26**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

Several days later, Belle sat huddled in her old cottage's cellar, Maurice's former workshop. Most of the tools and half-finished inventions were dusty. Belle's heart had twisted when she first saw this, given that this had once been one of the busiest places in the cottage. She and Maurice had been kept down here ever since Gaston had brought them back from the woods. Lumière had come in with them, tucked beneath Belle's cloak.

Lefou had been surprisingly attentive. He brought food from the tavern twice a day, and always seemed to be around the house when Belle peered out the narrow windows.

With the relative warmth and regular meals, Maurice was slowly improving. His fever was gone, and though he was weak, he was lucid enough to talk to Belle and Lumière for short periods of time. It was enough for him to confirm what Gaston had told Belle in the woods: he had indeed spent most of the last few months at the Maison des Lunes.

"It was awful," he admitted. "Monsieur D'Arc is not a nice man, and he tried everything he could to persuade me I had hallucinated the whole experience at the castle. How could objects talk, or a Beast speak like a human being? But I held out. I knew I was telling the truth. In fact, strangely enough, Belle, you not coming to take me home was a reassurance of my own sanity. I knew if you weren't the Beast's prisoner, you would have been to the Maison des Lunes every day trying to get me out." He smiled weakly. "I'm so glad you finally escaped!"

"I didn't escape, Papa. He let me go."

Maurice looked at her through eyes drifting shut. "That horrible Beast?"

"But he's different now, Papa. He's changed. He's really very…never mind. I'll try to explain later." Maurice had already fallen back asleep.

Maurice had accepted Lumière's presence happily. "I'm glad I didn't hallucinate you," was all he said.

"Myself as well, monsieur," answered Lumière with a bow.

One thing Maurice had not asked about yet was her pregnancy. She knew he had noticed; he couldn't fail to. She felt bigger every time he looked at her. Her back hurt so badly from sleeping on the dirt floor that she woke up every morning crying from the pain. Lumière would try to ease her soreness with his flaming candles, but not much helped.

"I won't miss this when the baby finally arrives," she told the candelabra.

They had been in the cellar for five days now. They had not seen Gaston at all during that time, and questions to Lefou fell on deaf ears. Belle had no idea what Gaston might be up to, but she knew it meant no good for all of them. Her panic increased with each passing minute, it seemed, though she tried to keep it hidden. Lumière was also very uncharacteristically tense and silent, but she put that down to worry about her and Maurice.

To compound matters, outside it was pouring rain. Not only did it dampen the mood in the cellar, but it also made it very hard to see one another.

"Belle?" said Maurice from the corner bench where she had made him a rough bed.

"Good morning, Papa," she answered, trying to sound cheerful. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"That would be nice, thank you. But you don't have to bring it over here, I can get it."

"No, Papa, you're still too weak to get up," Belle insisted. She picked up the plate Lumière had been heating.

"You shouldn't be waiting on me like this. Not in your condition," protested Maurice. He pushed himself up so that Belle could sit on the bench as well. She handed him the plate, which he set aside and took her hand. Belle studied him. His eyes were bright and clear, and he no longer looked so much like a skeleton walking. "Belle," he said gently. "Tell me what happened."

"Papa, you're not—"

"I'm well enough." He paused. "It was that scoundrel Gaston, wasn't it?"

Belle stared. "How did you know?"

"I'm not so sick that I can't count. You look just like your mother did right before you were born. Which tells me you were already expecting when I last saw you at the castle. I wondered why Gaston kept coming around." He raised his brows. "Does he know?"

"No. He thinks I 'betrayed' him with someone else after I disappeared. He can't count as well as you. For all our sakes, I plan to keep it that way."

Her father nodded. "A good plan. Then I take it…you weren't willing?"

"No." Belle's eyes filled with tears, and she looked away.

"Don't cry. We'll find a way to deal with all of this. Belle," he said, "why didn't you tell me? We could have faced it together, as a family."

"I'm sorry, Papa. I just didn't want you to worry. I was hoping to be away from the village before I told anyone." She explained her plan about the fair. "Now things are such a mess. I don't know how we're going to get out of here. The doors are locked, and the windows are all sealed. Even if we could get one open, none of us but Lumière can get out." If she hadn't been pregnant she could have fit out one of the narrow windows easily, but in her current state it was impossible.

"Now I'm sorry we sealed those windows to keep smoke from escaping. If we broke one…" Maurice suggested.

"Lumière and I discussed that. But Lefou would probably hear. He's always around. Even if Lumière could get away, it would take at least a day before he could get back to the castle. That leaves the two of us in here to get wet. Which wouldn't be good for you."

"Or you," pointed out Maurice. They were all glumly silent, staring at the rain beating against the windows. As they sat there, it occurred to Belle that she felt very peculiar. There was a lingering sense of anticipation in the air that had nothing to do with wanting to get out of the cellar. She had a strange urge to pace, which was not like her at all. The Beast was the one who paced when he was nervous. A slight cramp rippled down her back and made her wince, but her back had been in such pain of various intensities for the past few days this was nothing too unusual.

The squeak of the door lock made them all jump. Lumière dove behind a barrel. Belle and Maurice looked at each other but didn't move. It was the wrong time for Lefou to be bringing a meal. Who could this possibly be?

Down the stairs came a soaking wet Lefou…and behind him an equally wet, yet equally familiar face. And a very welcome one.

"Belle! Maurice!" exclaimed the town bookseller.

Belle hurried as fast as she could to fling her arms around him. "It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed. "But…" she pulled back and looked from one man to the other. "What's going on?"

Lefou couldn't meet her eyes. Belle turned to the bookseller.

"Lefou came bursting into my shop not five minutes ago saying he needed my help. He wouldn't tell me what it was about," the older man said. "I had no idea you were both down here! This place looks like a prison. What's been happening?"

They all looked at Lefou. He swallowed, then finally burst out, "Is it true the baby's Gaston's?"

"You heard us?" Belle asked. Sudden panic gripped her. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

Lefou shook his head, sending water flying from the end of his short pigtail. "He hasn't been around much. He just told me to watch the house and get you food. Did you know that if you sit next to the kitchen fireplace you can hear every single thing that's going on down here?"

"No," Belle admitted. She didn't spend enough time in the kitchen to really listen.

"There must be a walled-in chimney or something that carries the sound," Maurice said from his bench. "If things ever get back to normal, I'll have to test it."

Lefou still looked uncomfortable. "I'm awfully sorry, Belle," he blurted. "I had no idea what Gaston…what he did to you. He never told me about any of it." He finally met her eyes, and Belle saw a pained look of betrayal there.

Now she thought she understood. Lefou had thought Gaston told him everything. Finding out he was wrong had wounded him deeply.

"Thank you for letting us out, Lefou," she said. She moved to touch his shoulder, but he stepped back.

"I'm not doing it for you," he said roughly. "I'm doing it because Gaston's son deserves better than to be born in a dusty old cellar."

"Thank you anyway. You don't know how much this means," said Belle. "But why did you ask the bookseller for help?"

"I knew he was a friend of yours. I thought maybe he could hide you and your father for a little while, until you can get out of town. Gaston will be gone all day. He said this morning he'd found some suspicious tracks and was sure he'd find the castle today. He's been searching in the woods all week."

"What on earth does he want to go to the castle for?" asked Maurice.

"He thinks Belle betrayed him with that monster from her mirror," Lefou replied. "He's off to kill it and restore her honor." He looked at Belle, then away. "He's also going to kill your child once it's born. He said it's an…oh, what's that word…an abnormalation."

"An abomination?" Maurice offered helpfully.

Belle put a hand to her stomach. "Gaston thinks…the Beast is…oh, no…" Thinking back, she realized she _had_ said things in the woods that might lead Gaston to believe the Beast had fathered her child. Not that she would _mind_ the Beast being the baby's father, but not in the literal sense. And Gaston's jealous mind had jumped to the literal conclusion. Oh, what had she done? Now she'd put the Beast in danger, too, when she'd tried so hard to keep him out of it.

"I have to go," she said at once. "I know how to get back to the castle. I have to warn the Beast."

"But, Belle…" Maurice protested. "You can't…the road…your condition…"

Belle swung towards Lefou. "Is the carriage we arrived in still here? And our horse?"

"The carriage is out back, where no one can see it from the road," Lefou said, taking a step away. "And your horse is in the stable. I've been looking after him, too, same as I do for Gaston's horse."

Belle now turned to the bookseller. "Can you hide my father until I get back? Take care of him?"

"Of course," the bookseller agreed at once. "Anything for my best customer. If you promise to tell me the whole story when there's time."

"You won't believe half of it," Belle warned.

"That's all right. Tall tales are half the reason I got into my business. I sense this one might write me one of my own and make my fortune," the bookseller shrugged. "Maybe I'll retire to Paris with the money. I've been wanting a change of scene anyway. And people that understand the joy of reading as much as you and I do."

"Thank you," said Belle gratefully.

"I'm not leaving you," Maurice asserted. "You can't go off alone, with a baby coming so soon. And certainly not back to that awful castle. I know you told me the Beast let you go, but what if he tries to keep you again?"

"Papa, please. The Beast has changed so much. He's been very kind to me these past few months. He's such a good friend, and a good person. He would never try to keep me against my will. I was going to take you back there to recover before Gaston caught us."

This shook him hard. "But, Belle—"

Her eyes filled with tears. "This is all my fault. I can't let him die because of my mistake. He's suffered enough. I have to make this right, somehow."

"I still don't see any reason for me to stay behind. If you can manage in the carriage, I can manage, too."

"Papa, don't you see? Gaston is willing to hurt anyone he sees as an obstacle to possessing me. That's what he was doing by putting you in the Maison des Lunes, and that's what he's going to do to the Beast. He even did it to Lefou, by keeping secrets from him. If you come, who's to say Gaston won't threaten you again? At least this way I know you'll be safe. Please," Belle begged. "I'm worried enough about the Beast, and the baby. I don't want to worry about you, too."

There was a long silence. Finally, Maurice said in a defeated voice, "All right, Belle. I never could say no to you when you put your mind to something. But please, just promise to be careful. I want to see you, and my grandchild, safe and sound as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Papa." Belle went and hugged him hard. He hugged her just as hard, then gently touched her belly. As he did, Belle felt another cramp along her back, but she brushed it off as nerves. Then she went to the corner and fetched Lumière, who with his eyes closed looked for all the world like an ordinary candelabra.

"We'll save him," she whispered, more confidently than she felt. "I promise."

_

* * *

_

_Author's Note: Here is the rest of it. I've deviated sharply from the movie for this part. Once again, I'd like feedback on how well this works for you all._

_Thanks to everyone who responded to the last chapter. It warms an author's heart to know she has her readers a little on edge._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	28. Ain't No Mountain High Enough

**Chapter 27**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

The Beast was almost wild with anxiety. Even his fears about the curse's creeping deadline paled in comparison with how much he was worried about Belle.

She should have been back by now. She should have been back days ago.

He had initially worried about her taking her father and leaving, but ironically the more time passed, the more sure he was that she had _not_ run away again. She had said she would come back. His faith in her grew the longer she was absent. But that meant that his worry increased the longer she was gone, too.

Something must have happened to her and Lumière.

"Master?"

Mrs. Potts' voice interrupted his pacing. She and Cogsworth had come in on a tea tray.

"Anything?" he asked.

"No, sire. No sign of them. But don't give up hope. There's still time," Cogsworth said.

"I don't plan on giving up," the Beast replied. He went back out to the balcony despite the pouring rain to peer across the causeway, trying desperately to see a carriage rattling up it. Seeing nothing again, he went back inside and shook off.

"I can't stand it," he told the two servants, who had stepped back so as not to get hit by the torrent of water coming from his fur. "I wish I had the mirror. Then I'd just look to make sure they're all right."

The two servants exchanged glances. "Aren't you worried about the time, Master?" Cogsworth ventured tentatively.

"Of course I am," the Beast snapped, but it lacked the unbridled fury of just a few months ago. He softened even more at the desperate looks the servants cast him. "Of course I am. And I'm sorry things are this close. Don't you think I wish things were different? That I knew for sure Belle feels about me the way I feel about her? That we were all—human?" His voice caught a little.

"Never mind," Mrs. Potts said decidedly, though her voice sounded a little strained. "No more thinking that way. We brought you some late supper, Master."

"Thank you." Distantly, the Beast knew he was hungry, but he still only picked at the food. He couldn't stop thinking about Belle, and where she might be right now. She had the mirror. She couldn't be lost, could she? Or maybe…the baby?

He had even gone out to search the woods around the castle once or twice, when it became clear Belle was not coming back the same day she left. He hadn't gotten very far; only a mile or two. Still, there was no sign.

"I'm going out again," he announced after a minute spent staring at the same bit of meat on his plate.

"But, sire—" Cogsworth began.

"No arguments, Cogsworth," the Beast said. "Something's wrong. I know it. Belle wouldn't stay away this long. And Lumière would never disappear on us, either."

Cogsworth opened his mouth, and shut it again. "You are right, sire. Lumière may be a feckless, irresponsible, poor excuse for a candlestick, but you will never find anyone more loyal. And," he added with a glare at the two of them, "if you ever tell him I said that, I shall resign at that very moment and you can find someone else to run this household."

_Belle was right about them. They really are friends,_ the Beast thought. It made him miss her even more.

"I'm going," the Beast said determinedly. "And this time I'm not coming back until they're found."

"Is there anything we can do to help before you leave?" Mrs. Potts asked. It spoke a great deal for how the curse's looming permanence must be weighing on her, and her worry for Belle and Lumière, that she didn't argue.

"Keep the fires in the Belle's room, the guest room we prepared for her father, and the West Wing warm and ready for our return."

"An excellent idea, sire," Cogsworth said. He bowed low. "It shall be done."

"Have a last cup of tea before you leave?" offered Mrs. Potts.

"No. Thank you. The sooner I leave, the sooner we can all come back safely."

The Beast made his way downstairs, trailed by the two servants on their tea cart. Coming down the main stairs, they were met by Babette, Lumière's lover. She hadn't left a particular large window next to the main doors since Belle and Lumière left.

"What's wrong, dear?" Mrs. Potts asked.

"Someone's coming," the featherduster gasped. She sounded close to fainting. "Someone is coming across the causeway."

"Is it…?" the Beast breathed.

"I could not tell," Babette sniffed. "The rain…"

"Look after her," the Beast ordered Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth. "I'll go see."

He practically flew across the vast main hall and threw open the doors. His still-damp fur was instantly soaked again, but he hardly noticed. He hurried to the edge of the causeway.

Someone _was_ coming across. However, it looked far too small to be the carriage. Maybe something had happened to it?

No. As the figure came closer, he could see ever more clearly that it was no one he recognized. It might be too small to be the carriage, but it was definitely too big to be Belle, even Belle supporting her father.

The Beast started moving forward, for once curiosity overcoming caution at a stranger seeing him as a monster. This mysterious figure intrigued him. How had someone else found their way to the castle?

The figure halted about at half the distance across the causeway. It seemed to be shouting something at him. Even though he was not particularly far away, the Beast couldn't hear any of the words through the roar of wind, rain and thunder. Closer he went, until they were a mere ten feet apart. Finally, he saw the man clearly.

In size, he matched the Beast fairly well even though the Beast was an animal—the man was as tall, and nearly as muscled. He had long black hair that was coming out of its tie in the wind, causing tresses to blow across his powerfully-boned face. The man's square chin was particularly impressive. Like the Beast, he wore a billowing cloak. He bristled with weapons: a bow and quiver full of arrows, and at least one knife.

The man also seemed to be sizing him up. He showed no surprise at the Beast's appearance. It made the Beast wonder what he'd expected to see when he approached the castle. The man's lip was curling, which, given what he was facing, was not surprising.

Finally, he spoke. "You're even uglier in the flesh."

"What?" The Beast was somewhat taken aback.

The man ignored him. "I can't believe she'd be crazy enough to choose a thing like you over me."

"You're Gaston," the Beast realized with a jolt. His own lip started to curl. He never thought he'd ever get to face Belle's tormentor, and he was unprepared for the rising tide of hatred that was starting to take him over. He crouched low, growling deep in his throat. "You hurt Belle. You forced yourself on her."

At last, Gaston appeared somewhat intimidated. He took a half-step back. Then he puffed his chest out. "I took what was mine," he snapped. "She taunted me for weeks, turning me down when she really wanted me."

"She _never_ wanted you," the Beast snarled. "Why couldn't you have left her alone? She'll have to live with what you did _for the rest of her life_. Every time she looks at the child—"

"The child?" Gaston interrupted. "She said the child's _yours_, you monster."

They stared at one another. The Beast felt as though lightning had come out of the storm and hit him. Belle had said her baby was his? Not only that, but the vicious Gaston had believed such a thing was even possible?

"Tell me you're lying," Gaston finally said, so low the Beast almost missed it beneath the storm. "That demonspawn isn't mine. She would have thrown herself on my mercy right away if it were true." He seemed to be trying to convince himself rather than really speaking to the Beast.

The Beast tried to check his still-boiling fury and think somewhat rationally. Belle had never wanted Gaston to know he had fathered her child, or he would be able to claim them both. The Beast longed to know whether it meant anything that Belle had said he was the father. But Belle was not here to give the truth. And even in her absence, he vowed not only to respect her wishes, but take the responsibility it entailed.

"Yes," he said, wondering not for the first time if he had lost his mind. "I am the child's father."

With a yell, Gaston whipped out his bow. The Beast, stunned by the man's speed, realized what he was about to do a second too late. He dodged. The arrow sliced deep into his left shoulder instead of his heart. He stumbled back with the shock and pain. It hurt a lot worse than the bites from the wolves, mostly because the intense pain was concentrated in one small spot. But instead of fainting, he steeled himself and quickly broke off the arrow's shaft, dodging another arrow in the process. Belle and her baby needed him, wherever they were. He didn't want to die at this man's hands.

---

At some point during the long ride through the woods, it dawned on Belle that she might be in labor. The strange pains she'd dismissed as just from sleeping on the floor, or nerves, continued. And they got stronger, and more frequent, the further she got from the village.

_Not now!_ she thought desperately. _It's supposed to be another two weeks…_ She remembered Mrs. Potts saying it was possible the baby could come a week or two before its actual due date. Belle had half-joked she hoped that happened because she was ready not to be pregnant anymore. Now she regretted it.

_Stay where you are!_ she ordered the baby. _I have to save him first…you want to meet the Beast when you arrive, don't you?_ She hoped the baby heard, but she got the feeling he wasn't listening.

The pains were regular, but they were spaced decently well apart, so Belle figured she had some time even if the baby really was coming. Because of the poor condition of the road, she couldn't make Philippe go faster than a walk if she didn't want to be bounced out of the carriage.

At least she knew exactly where she was going. Lumière stood bravely beside her, holding the mirror and giving directions based on his requests to the glowing surface. Belle had not asked him to look for the Beast, or Gaston, through it. If he had looked at either, he was keeping whatever he'd seen to himself.

---

The Beast found himself disadvantaged in the fight in nearly every way. He went into it already shot, and Gaston somehow used his distraction by the agony to get between him and escape to the castle. Not only that, but he knew almost nothing about fighting, either as a human or as an animal. Gaston had a long-range weapon, while the Beast only had teeth and claws.

However, he did have sheer ferocity, born of his need to protect the woman he loved and her child, whom he might love as he got to know. He wanted that chance.

He also had the burning knowledge that he was _right_. This man deserved anything the Beast might do to him for harming an innocent girl.

He crouched low, ready to dodge more arrows. Gaston tucked his bow over one shoulder and drew his long knife. The big man charged. His knife flashed, and the Beast had to scramble to get out of the way. Into the opening the Beast lunged. Gaston slashed the knife again, forcing him to back away.

Back and forth they traded blows and dodges. Gaston did not manage to land another hit. One of the Beast's lucky swings with a paw caught the strap Gaston used for his quiver, dumping the arrows to the ground; another blow hit the tip of his chin. Blood trailed a line down onto the man's red shirt. The Beast was vaguely aware of a spreading dark stain from his own hurt shoulder, and the wound was definitely slowing him down. He could hardly lift his left arm.

Gaston noticed, and sneered at him. "You're weak. Give up. Belle would never have stayed with you. A woman wants a strong man who can fight for her, not some poor pathetic creature."

All the Beast's fury came rushing back. "You don't know Belle," he snarled. He leapt forward, but wasn't fast enough. Gaston easily evaded him.

"It's over, Beast," he said, chuckling cruelly as he watched the Beast stumble back to get out of knife range. "Belle is mine!"

Something cold, a kind of icy clarity, took over the Beast's mind, though it was still red-tinted with rage. This…monster…thought he could _own_ Belle, like a horse, or the shirt he was dripping blood on. "Belle belongs to _no one_," he hissed, "Not to me, and least of all to you." And he flung himself forward, heedless of the danger of the knife.

His reckless charge apparently took Gaston by surprise. The Beast had the knife knocked away and the man off his feet before he could do more than lift a hand. Using his good right arm, the Beast towed his helpless prisoner to the edge of the causeway and held him out by the throat, ready to drop him to his death hundreds of feet below.

Gaston screamed and struggled, but he was helpless before the Beast's righteous rage. "Please, let me go! Don't hurt me! I'll do anything you want! Just don't…" He looked down at the empty air below his feet and struggled harder.

This was it: the Beast could drop him and be done with it. Belle and her baby would finally be safe. He wouldn't even have to watch the man die, as he had with his mother.

His mother. The Beast heard that axe swinging again, the terrible noise roaring in his ears as it cut through bone and ended her life. He saw his father, dull-eyed and ill, refusing to leave the West Wing. No one would mourn Gaston the way the Prince had mourned his beloved, betraying wife.

A betraying wife. Now in his mind the Beast sat beside Belle as they read _Arthur and Guinevere_, while in the story the Queen betrayed her husband, realized her mistake, and went back. Arthur forgave her, had been willing to give a second chance.

And Sir Gawain. He had raped a peasant girl, should have been put to death for it, and instead was given a chance to redeem himself. He became one of the greatest of knights, which would never have happened had he not been given a riddle that helped him realize his mistake. Mercy had taught him a lesson.

If he, the Beast, dropped Gaston into the valley, Gaston would never have the chance to realize his own mistakes.

And who was the Beast to judge? After all, he'd been given a second chance of his own, in a way—transformation. Because of it, he'd met Belle and been changed in so many ways.

All this the Beast thought of in a flash. Justice would be served if Gaston died right here for his crimes. But was it the right thing to do?

_No. No. No,_ his mind chanted. _I'm not what I was. I've learned more from the past ten years than that. I'm _not _what I was. I'm not._

Carefully, the Beast pulled Gaston back onto the causeway. "I let you live," he growled. "In exchange, you leave this place and never bother Belle again. If you don't, then I'll find you and make sure you get the full punishment you deserve for all you've done. Do you understand?"

Gaston, still pale and trembling, nodded reluctantly.

"Then get out." The Beast flung the man to the ground and staggered away. It was alarming how weak he felt. His knees threatened to give with every step. He hoped he could make it back to the castle. Or that the servants would realize something was wrong and come to fetch him before he bled to death out here in the middle of the causeway.

The rain had lessened while he'd been distracted. He also noticed that it was getting a little light out. Dawn would come soon.

The morning of his twenty-fifth birthday.

A noise made him spin back towards the forest. Across the causeway raced an open carriage he recognized. Belle was at the driver's seat, and he could make out Lumiere beside her with the mirror.

"Beast!" Belle nearly screamed. First she pulled Philippe up to a sharp stop barely inches from him. She flung herself down out of the driver's seat somehow, and then she was in his arms.

"Belle," he whispered into her tangled hair. "Belle, you're here."

"I came to warn you," she sobbed. "I tried to get here in time, but we were so slow. Gaston, he's…" She pulled back, taking in his still-bleeding shoulder. "You're hurt!"

"Mrs. Potts can help," he tried to reassure her. He examined her soaked, white face. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked a bit wild. She winced, drawing away from him a little.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"The baby's coming. Soon." Suddenly her eyes went behind him and grew huge. "Watch out! Gaston, no, don't!"

The Beast tried to turn, but he was far too slow. Something pierced his back and ripped. Belle screamed, and it sounded far away. Momentum kept him swinging, and he felt his failing arm collide with something huge and heavy with enough force to knock it aside. Another scream, this time a man's voice. The scream seemed to drop away, and then there was a long silence.

The Beast blinked. He looked at Belle, but her eyes weren't on him. They were looking past him, at a spot on the causeway wall.

"What…" he tried to say. It came out a breathy gasp, and then the pain hit, hard. His whole back was on fire, and he could feel warmth trickling there, too.

"Gaston…" Belle managed to croak out, her face even whiter. "You hit him…he fell… The knife! Did he…?" She started forward, arms outstretched.

"Yes," the Beast attempted. But the sound had barely made it past his lips before his legs collapsed beneath him.

_

* * *

Author's Note: Here at least is satisfaction for those who wanted Gaston dead. I've tried so hard to give him motivations for what he's doing, not just going around being evil, but it's tough to show motivation when you aren't writing from his perspective. To Belle and the Beast, he looks evil, and for purposes of length as well as theme I've kept the story's focus solely on them. In consequence, the villain is less humanized, more of a demon lurking in the background than the rounded character he is in the movie._

_Moving on… Yes! The Beast has taken responsibility to fill the father role for Belle's baby. Now it just remains to be seen whether he'll live to fulfill it…_

_Yep, I enjoy cliffhangers. Keeps things interesting. See you at the next post!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	29. Miracles Happen

**Chapter 28**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

Through a haze of pain the Beast felt Belle kneel beside him. Her fingers touched the wound on his shoulder, making him give a little half-groan.

"We have to get the rest of the arrow out," Belle said. Her voice shook, but it was matter-of-fact. "It can't heal otherwise."

"Don't, Belle," the Beast gasped. "You have to think of the baby. Go inside."

"This is all my fault," Belle answered stubbornly. She bent down and attempted to embrace him. "I'm so sorry! I should have listened to you when you wanted to come with us…but then Gaston might have killed you." Her voice caught. "Lumière, go for help. Tell the others what's happened."

"On my way, _chérie_! Hold on, Master. We'll have you warm and safe soon." Lumière said. The Beast listened to him tap away.

Belle was still talking. "I'd have come back days ago, but Gaston locked Papa and me in our cellar. It was only by good luck his friend Lefou let us out. I hoped we'd get here in time, but… please forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive," the Beast whispered. "You came back." He shuddered with the pain, and noticed that Belle had also shuddered and whimpered softly. "The baby. You should go—"

"I won't leave you!" Her hands began to work on his shoulder again. In only a minute she'd drawn the rest of the arrow shaft, along with the head, out of the wound. She began staunching the bleeding with strips torn from her sleeves. The Beast remembered another night when her sleeve had been in tatters because of him. It seemed like another lifetime. Now, he wished he could persuade her to go inside and take care of herself and the baby. The wound on his back was still draining his life away. Belle was just staving off the inevitable.

"Belle…" he whispered. His mind seemed to be drifting all over the place, away from his wound and the idea that this would be the last he saw of her.

"Yes?" She took his paw.

"The baby. You should…name him Arthur. After the story."

Belle's eyes filled with tears, and she lifted his paw to rub the knuckles against her cheek. "I'd hoped to name him after you," she said.

"Me?"

"Yes. Your real name. The one your parents called you."

She knew. Somehow, and he couldn't begin to guess how, she knew that he'd once been human. Heartbreak twisted the Beast's thoughts. Now he understood what the enchantress had meant when she'd said "Learn to trust her," in his dream. He'd thought that meant trusting Belle to come back if he let her leave, but that wasn't it. He should have trusted her with his deepest secrets, as she'd trusted him with hers. If he had, things would be very different right now.

Belle saw from his expression that he understood. "I guessed a long time ago, but I don't blame you for not telling me. Whatever happened to you and the servants must have been very painful."

"Oh, Belle…" His voice had begun to fail, but he had to say this. "I'm sorry."

"Don't," said Belle. "Once you're better, we'll have all the time in the world to talk about this."

"Not going to…"

"Don't talk like that!" she said instantly. "You'll be all right. We're together now. Everything will be fine, you'll see. Us, and the baby, too."

She still held his paw against her face. With the last of his strength, he reached up a few more inches and ran his fingers gently through her hair. "At least I got to see you…one last time." Darkness was closing in, but he fought to keep his eyes on her face. This was it. He would get no other chance. "Belle…I…l…ov…"

He didn't have the breath to finish. His head hit the stones beneath him, and he knew nothing more.

---

Belle felt the Beast go limp, felt the life leaving the arm she still held. His eyes rolled up just before they closed, and his head fell back at a loose angle.

Until that moment, she had refused to acknowledge that he might die. She'd known his wounds were serious, though she couldn't see his back where Gaston had stabbed him. But she'd convinced herself he'd still live. That he'd be there waiting when the baby was born, which she could feel would be very soon. The pains were coming closer and closer together, and they hurt as much as if _she_ were the one being stabbed.

But that was almost distant compared to the pain of contemplating a future without the Beast. She hadn't been willing to face it, but now, here it was, glaring at her.

"No!" she begged, still hoping against hope that it wasn't true. He couldn't really be dead. "No, wait. Please. Don't go. Not yet." Tears streaming from her eyes, she bent as low as she could and kissed his cheek.

"Please don't leave us," she whispered. "The baby needs you. And I…I love you."

A strange hush seemed to fall over them. Belle looked up and realized it was just that the torrential rain had finally stopped. The morning sun was even trying to poke through the dark gray clouds on the eastern horizon.

Another pain hit and she doubled over, gasping. When she looked again, the sun wasn't the only thing lighting up the scene.

The Beast was _glowing._ Eyes wide, Belle scooted away on her knees until her back hit the causeway wall. She pressed herself hard against it, something solid to lean on in a suddenly much more unstable world.

Streaks of light like shooting stars began to rain down. They hit the stone and scattered, bathing the causeway all around the Beast's body in sparkles. Belle reached out to touch one, and was instantly sorry. It stung like a tiny jolt of lightning. She pressed even further away.

A light mist, as if the recent rain were evaporating in sudden heat, rose up and concealed most of the Beast's body and the air above it. Within it, Belle saw the Beast begin to rise, still partially obscured in mist.

_What on earth is this?_ she wondered in awe and fear. _Is this the Beast somehow…being called up to heaven? It wasn't anything like this when Mama died…_

The Beast slowed in his ascent, and seemed to hang in the air with his hind paws dangling a foot or so above the causeway. Another burst of light, this time from the Beast's body, forced Belle to close her eyes and look away. Blinking spots from her vision, she squinted back towards the Beast, anxious about what had happened to him in the few intervening seconds.

He was _changing_. Before her eyes, his huge body was shrinking, pulling in on itself. The dark fur lightened and seemed to fade away into pale skin. All except for his mane, which gained tones of blond and red.

Another birth pain squeezed Belle, and she couldn't help crying out. More tears trickled their way down her cheeks, obscuring her vision with a watery blur. She blinked them away furiously.

When she could see again, the Beast was almost invisible in the light-streaked mist. She squinted, but all she could see was a body. It twisted in the air, and another flash of light blinded her a second time.

The whole situation just became too much. The pain, the fear of impending childbirth and of losing the Beast, the confusion of what was happening to him now. She couldn't take it in anymore. The white spots of light still covering most of her vision faded into black, and she sank into near-unconsciousness. The only thing still keeping her mildly aware of what was going on around her were the ever-more frequent pains.

---

The Beast woke up with a jolt. He took a sharp breath, feeling as if his lungs had been flat and were abruptly inflating again. Something was wrong about that, but he couldn't remember what it was.

Then it dawned on him: it should have hurt to take that breath.

He opened his eyes. All he could see was an expanse of stone in front of him, and a stone wall a little further away. Weak morning sun was just touching everything.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and the ease of the motion surprised him. Not only was he not in pain, in either his shoulder or his back, but he felt strangely…light. As if a huge burden he'd been unconsciously carrying around was suddenly gone.

He brought a paw up to feel his shoulder, to try to figure out what had happened to it. Halfway there, he froze. It was a paw he'd ordered to move, but what he saw before him was a hairless, clawless, human hand.

For a second he thought he was dreaming, and the enchantress was playing games with him again. He glanced around suspiciously, but she was nowhere in sight. He flexed his fingers, and the fingers in front of him also moved.

Could it possibly be true? He reached up and touched his face. Skin on skin. No fur, no fangs. He looked down. Bare human feet looked back at him. He still wore the same clothes, torn and bloody at the shoulder and back, and now astonishingly too large. Still amazed, he plucked at the loose folds of cloth around his neck while his brain tried to catch up.

What had happened, and more importantly—how? Memory was coming back. He was on the causeway between the castle and forest. Gaston. Belle. The knife. He was dying. He and Belle had talked about the baby's name. He'd realized how far he'd fallen short in trusting her. He'd tried at the last second to tell her how he felt.

After that was a haze. Nothing but a blur, and a feeling of floating. And now…this. Inexplicably waking up again, in a human body, fully healed. What would Belle think?

Belle…

He spun. Belle lay curled a few feet behind him against the causeway wall. For a second he was terribly afraid when he saw how pale she was, but then she moved her head and moaned. Then she gave a little half-scream, all with her eyes shut tight.

"Belle!" In an instant he was beside her. "Belle! Wake up!"

Belle moaned again. Her eyes stayed shut.

"Belle, it's me. I'm all right. Look," he urged, but still she didn't respond. Beginning to be really frightened, he reached down and put his arms around her. She didn't open her eyes, but as before when he held her, she snuggled close to him. He relaxed, just a little. She still recognized him, even in this strange almost-unconscious state. But she was obviously in a lot of pain.

She'd said the baby was coming soon. That explained the pain. Holding in his panic, the transformed young man scooped up the woman he loved. "Don't worry," he said soothingly, "I have you. Everything's going to be fine." She was much heavier than he remembered, but some of the Beast seemed to have stayed behind in his arms and legs. He was still strong enough to carry her.

---

Belle thought she heard someone calling her name. The voice was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, but she couldn't find the willpower to move her mouth to answer, or open her eyes to see who it was. Arms went around her and held her close. A unique and comforting spicy smell filled the air. Now she knew who it was without doubt. She relaxed into his hold, knowing she was safe. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. She could even stand the pain, so long as he was near.

---

The former Beast started towards the castle, Belle's head on his shoulder and her tangled hair mingling with his. Every twenty steps or so she would tense up and moan again, and he would hold her closer. The last time, just as they left the causeway into the courtyard, he shyly leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Belle," he whispered.

And Belle smiled. "I love you, too," she said, very distinctly, though she stayed limp in his arms and her eyes didn't open.

Immediately, the castle gave a great shiver underneath them. The young man staggered but managed not to fall or drop his precious burden. From his feet in all directions spread out a ripple of change. The dark stones became light marble, the angry gargoyles all around angels. Flowers peeked out from all corners. Sparkles of light danced around the towers, and then faded.

The young man stood still for a moment, staring in awe. The castle was now just the way he remembered it from his childhood. The enchantress had said this would happen if he somehow managed to break the spell—everything would return to the way it had been. Which meant…

The front doors flew open with a bang. Down into the courtyard rushed three people. The young man recognized them instantly.

"Lumière! Cogsworth! Mrs. Potts!" he called.

Cogsworth, now a heavy man with a dangling pocketwatch that served as a pendulum, skidded to a halt. Because he had been in the lead, the other two crashed into him.

"_Dieu_, Cogsworth, what is the matter with you?" the tall, thin man dressed all in gold demanded in disgust. "Can you not see the Master and Mistress Belle need our help?"

"Master?" Cogsworth squinted at the young man as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Of course," Lumière snapped. "Who else would it be? Your eyesight must be worse than even I suspected."

"This is no time to stand there bickering," Mrs. Potts, now a plump, matronly woman with white hair, reminded them. She came forward and laid a hand on Belle's forehead. "Poor dear." She looked up into her Master's eyes. "The baby?"

He nodded. "She said soon. And now, she's blacked out like this. I can't get her to wake up, but she knows I'm here, and she knows who I am. She spoke to me a minute ago."

"Shock, I think," Mrs. Potts answered. She peered behind them. "Where is her father?"

He'd forgotten Belle's original errand. "I don't know. He wasn't with them."

"He's safe," Lumière assured them all. "Staying with a friend in the village while he recovers. The journey here would have been too much."

"Then we've no more time to waste! If the baby's coming soon, then Belle needs to be warm and comfortable. Come on, quickly!" Mrs. Potts led them all back into the castle. It was all the young man could do not to stop at the threshold and stare around. Everything had gone from dark and cobwebby to bright and polished in an instant. But he'd have time to examine it later. Belle moaned in his arms again.

"Belle's room is too far," he said. "I don't think there's time."

"The only other room with a built up fire is the West Wing," Cogsworth announced, sounding slightly panicky.

"It will have to do," answered Mrs. Potts. They followed her up the flights of stairs, the young man's arms burning more and more with each step. "Hold on, Belle," he whispered to her. "We're almost there."

It was a relief to finally lay her down, though it was odd to do so on his own bed. To distract himself, he turned to Mrs. Potts. "Now what?"

"Now, you leave," she answered firmly.

"_Leave?!_" Had he still been a Beast the sound would have been a thunderous roar. As it was, Cogsworth and Lumière stiffened and drew back a step. Mrs. Potts, however, had apparently learned a thing or two from Belle. She stood her ground.

"This is women's business, Master. I can tell you now that your father wasn't present when you were born in this very bed. And Belle might not be comfortable if she knew you were here, anyway. Things will be messy, and she'll be in a lot of pain. She may not want you to see her like that."

It was only the suggestion that Belle might feel better if he left that made him begin to back towards the hallway. Lumière took his shoulder and steered him gently. Still, he couldn't take his eyes from Belle until he passed into the parlor and out of sight. His last glimpse of her was Mrs. Potts tucking the covers up.

_

* * *

Author's Note: Apologies to those of you who wanted to keep the Beast as a Beast. I have several reasons for doing what I did, not the least of which is that the Beast in my story really _wants_ to be human again. He'd be miserable if he were stuck as a Beast. Sure, he'd find a way to live around it, and Belle and her baby would help with that, but he'd still always be wishing. Trust me, I did consider it, but I decided it wouldn't fit. I didn't just change him back because that's what happens in the movie. I hope you're not too disappointed, and will continue reading regardless._

_One of the things I dislike most about the way Disney animates is they tend to forget about wounds and damage to clothing (unlike Hayao Miyazaki's movies; if there is so much as a rip in the clothing, by golly it stays there for the rest of the movie). Hence, I always wondered what happened to the arrow Gaston puts into the Beast's back. It sort of disappears after he kicks the Beast off the West Wing balcony. So I've made a point of not forgetting about wounds._

_Still more excitement to come! And 200 reviews! Thanks to all who have reviewed thus far._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	30. Because You Live

**Chapter 29**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

Something was wrong. Belle sensed it. She'd been put down somewhere comfortable, but now that reassuring presence was gone. She knew Mrs. Potts was close; she could hear the teapot's gentle voice, and that kept her from completely panicking. But it was somehow vitally important that the Beast be near.

"Try to relax, dear," Mrs. Potts soothed.

"No!" Belle moaned. "Where is he? What happened to him?"

---

Once the three men were in the hall, Cogsworth left to check on the rest of the household as they rediscovered their humanity. Lumière stayed, for which the former Beast was grateful. The two sat side-by-side on a small couch that had, like the other objects in the West Wing hall, mysteriously repaired itself. Well, the young man tried to sit, but he kept jumping up to pace. Lumière only stood when Babette arrived to help Mrs. Potts. The two shared a long, drawn-out kiss that only stayed a kiss because Babette was carrying a kettle of hot water and accidentally burned Lumière when he got too close.

"Ow!" the maitre d' complained, waving his arm around.

"Turnabout is fair play," Babette responded with a wink. "I've been burnt by you before." Then she went into the West Wing and shut the door behind her.

The young man could only watch in envy. He wanted so badly to bolt inside to see how Belle was doing. They'd come so far; why did they have to be apart now, when it mattered the most?

"Take a deep breath, Master," Lumière urged. He'd settled back onto the couch to nurse his burn. "Mrs. Potts was right when she said your father wasn't in the room when you were born. And he was just as nervous. This is something women prefer to do in secret."

"I wish it weren't," the young man grumbled. He started to pace again. "Why is it taking so long?"

"It has only been a few minutes, Master." Lumière eyed him. "If I may ask, how did all of this happen?" His gesture took in their humanity, and the change in the castle. "For us, one moment we were just coming to bring you aid for your wounds, and the next—we were surrounded by a cloud of little lights, and we were all human again as if the spell had never been."

"I'm not really sure," the young man replied, distracted for the moment. "You saw what happened with Gaston. I was—I was dying. Belle didn't believe it; she kept insisting I was going to get better. She wanted—" He paused. "She knew, Lumière. Somehow. She knew we all used to be human, and she never said anything."

"The girl is brighter than any of us gave her credit for," Lumière remarked with a glance at the West Wing door. "I remember sometimes we were careless, early on when we were not used to keeping it a secret, but I convinced myself she noticed nothing."

"She did. Belle notices everything."

"She kept her council very well. How much _does_ she know about our history, I wonder?"

"I have no idea." The young man flung himself down on the couch beside his maitre d'. "I should have trusted her, Lumière. I should have told her I loved her long before. But I always pictured her horror when I, the hideous Beast, told her that I…" He swallowed. "I could never do it. If I had, things wouldn't have happened this way." He fingered the bloody shoulder of his shirt to make the point.

"Ah, but they worked out, no? You are alive, and you now know for certain that she reciprocates your feelings. What could be better?"

He wished he had Lumière's optimism. Instead, he bent over and buried his head in his hands.

He felt an unexpected hand on his shoulder. "Master," said Lumière, very quietly. "Things have been happening very fast, so I will say it while I have the chance: on behalf of all of us, thank you. You have given us back our lives."

That got the young man's full attention. Impulsively, he reached out and hugged the maitre d'. "Thank you, Lumière. You and the others never let me give up, even when it all seemed impossible."

The West Wing door opened. Both men spun to see Mrs. Potts standing there. Her eyes were solemn. "Belle keeps asking for you, Master. She's so distressed, I'm afraid she might hurt herself and the baby. It's against my better judgment, but…"

He was already up and practically past her before she finished speaking. She sighed, but it was a half-affectionate sound in the midst of exasperation. She closed the door behind them.

"Master, you have to be prepared. There will be…quite a bit of blood with the birth, and Belle will be in a lot of pain. If you feel ill, you can always come back and wait out here."

He met her eyes squarely. "She needs me," he said. "She and the baby."

To his surprise, he could see tears glimmering in his old nurse's eyes. "Look at you," she said, her voice thick. "You're all grown up into a fine young man. I'm so proud of you." She hugged him. He was shocked to find how much taller he was than she—before the transformation he'd topped her by barely an inch. He hadn't given a thought to possible changes in his human appearance over the last ten years until this moment. But like much of the aftermath of the spell, it would all have to wait.

Belle lay propped up in his large double bed, attended by Babette, who was wiping her forehead with a damp cloth.

"He's here, dear," Mrs. Potts announced. Belle's only response was to turn her head slightly.

He found a chair in a corner, picked it up, and pulled it close to the head of the bed, as close to Belle as he could get. "Belle," he whispered.

She turned even more at the sound of his voice. "I'm so tired," she murmured, almost inaudibly.

"It's nearly time, dear," Mrs. Potts announced from the other end of the bed. "When I say, you must push as hard as you can."

"Did you hear, Belle? It's almost time. It's almost over," he urged. "Keep going." Very gently, he began running his fingers through her matted, damp hair. It was much easier to manage with smaller fingers and no claws.

The change this simple gesture wrought was immediate. Belle visibly relaxed, and even seemed to grow slightly more alert. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him blearily. "Beast?"

"I'm here."

She put one hand up towards his face. Her fingers brushed his cheek, then trailed down to explore his chin, lips, the bridge of his nose, up to his eyebrows, then back down to his cheek. Her hazy eyes met his.

"It _is_ you," she said. A small smile flicked across her face. Then she tensed again, and cried out. Still running the fingers of one hand through her hair, he reached down with the other and took her hand. She squeezed so hard he thought his bones were going to break, but he gritted his teeth—so much easier to do without fangs!—and remained steady.

Belle didn't speak again, and neither did he, though he kept holding her hand and stroking her hair. Babette leaned down from the other side of the bed to bathe Belle's sweaty forehead with her cloth. Two more birth pains came, and they were less than a minute apart each. At the end of the last, Belle doubled over, drawing her knees up.

"I see the baby!" Mrs. Potts announced. "As soon as the next pain starts, push as hard as you can!"

The young man knew better than to look, even though he very much wanted to see the baby, too. Mrs. Potts had said there would be blood, and he believed her. He didn't want to faint as he had in the woods. Instead, he kept his eyes on Belle's face, which was screwed up tight with agony and concentration. A small whimper escaped her lips.

"Push!" ordered Mrs. Potts.

Belle complied, her face even tighter. It was obvious from her clenched teeth she was trying hard not to scream again.

"The next one should do it," said Mrs. Potts. "We're almost there."

"We're almost there," the young man repeated, whispering it into Belle's ear like a secret. She turned and managed to smile at him again, though it quickly became a grimace.

"Now!" came Mrs. Potts' voice.

Belle's scream this time seemed torn from her. It went on and on, until the young man's ears were ringing a little. Or no…that wasn't an echo, it was…

Belle fell back onto the bed with a gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, the young man saw Mrs. Potts straighten up. There was something in her arms, and it was moving.

He dared a look. Sure enough, it _was_ a baby, a tiny, pink, wrinkled thing still covered in beads of blood. But this blood he could stand to look at. There was nothing sickening or threatening about it. The baby was squirming a little in Mrs. Potts' arms, and crying with a surprisingly loud voice.

He could also see it was still connected to Belle through a strange-looking cord attached to its middle. Before he could ask about it, Babette came forward from where she had been standing. She held a sharp knife, which must have been one of the things she had brought up with the hot water from the kitchen. Deftly she tied off the cord with a bit of string and cut it. The baby continued to cry unabated.

"It's a girl," announced Mrs. Potts.

"A girl?" the young man repeated. He was a little surprised. For some reason he'd been expecting a boy. Now he felt silly. Of course Belle could have a daughter as easily as she could a son.

"A strong, healthy girl," Mrs. Potts elaborated, misunderstanding the question in his voice. She glanced at Belle, who was still taking deep, steadying breaths. Then she brought the baby to the young man, and held her out wordlessly.

For a second, he panicked. But his arms were already moving without his permission. Mrs. Potts handed the little girl off, then adjusted his grip so that he was supporting the head in the crook of one elbow. Small flecks of blood still on the baby's skin rubbed off onto his already-bloody, too-large Beast shirt.

The baby's cries grew softer, then turned to slight gurgles. Amazed, he gently traced her features with the barest tip of a finger. Already the baby took after her mother. He could see a little of Belle in the delicate chin and cheekbones. The damp shock of brown hair was just the barest shade darker than Belle's.

Then the baby's eyes popped open. She went cross-eyed with the attempt to focus on his face, then closed them again.

He stood still, stunned. The baby's eyes were a clear blue, very different from Belle's green-brown. The blue eyes might be a feature from Gaston—he hadn't had much time to check the man's eye color—but for an instant it had been like looking in a mirror.

"Belle," he breathed, sitting back down in his chair, "We have a little girl. She's beautiful."

Belle already looked better. Her white face had gotten some color back, and her eyes were tired but had regained a little of their sparkle. She scooted up a bit against the bed's headboard, and as soon as she was settled the young man passed her daughter into her arms. Belle smiled, tears at the corners of her eyes.

"You're right. She is beautiful," she said wonderingly. As he had done, she traced a finger across the baby's face. The little girl's eyes opened at the sound of her mother's voice. She kept them open a bit longer before closing them again.

Belle looked up at him. "Her eyes…they look like…"

"Mine," he finished, his voice just as amazed as hers. "Were Gaston's…?"

"Yes, I think his eyes were blue, but they were lighter." The baby gurgled, and Belle rocked her gently. "It's funny, but I assumed from the beginning she'd be a boy. I somehow couldn't imagine Gaston fathering a girl."

"I did the same thing. I mean, I thought she'd be a boy, too."

"But now it means I have no idea what to call her."

He knew what she wanted him to say, but for the moment chose to ignore her hint. "I think you should call her Guinevere."

"Guinevere," Belle said, testing it out. "Gwen for short, maybe. I do like that. More than Arthur for a boy. But are you sure you don't…"

"No. I don't think I'd be comfortable with a little girl in the castle with my name."

Belle smiled, but she said, "You know what I meant. We could change the name a bit to suit a girl."

"No, Belle."

"All right. But will you at least tell me what your name is? 'Beast' just doesn't suit you anymore. Actually, it hasn't for awhile."

He let that pass without comment. "My name was—is—Alexander." The words felt strange coming out of his mouth again after all these years. He hadn't thought of himself as Alexander in…it felt like forever. "But you can still call me Beast if you want to. Being called Alexander will take getting used to as it is."

The baby seemed to think they'd spent enough time with their attention off her. She began to cry again. Belle rocked and shushed her, but nothing seemed to work.

"She's probably hungry," suggested Mrs. Potts, who had gone into the West Wing parlor with Babette to give the three of them a little privacy. She returned carrying a bundle of linens for the bed. "Master," she said with a very slight respectful bob of the head, "Belle and the baby—"

"Guinevere," said Belle and Alexander at the same time.

"Guinevere. What a lovely name," the matronly woman approved, "Belle and Guinevere need some rest, alone. Perhaps you should tell the household the good news?"

He was still reluctant to leave, but Belle nodded. "I'm sure they'd like to know. And maybe you should change clothes?"

Alexander glanced down at his enormous, torn, bloody shirt and breeches, and his bare feet. "Maybe you're right. But there's one thing I want to do first."

"What's that?" asked Belle.

"I…" He swallowed hard. "Can I kiss you? I've been wanting to for so long, but I would never do it without asking, after Gaston…"

She blinked. Then she smiled, a slow, tender smile that lit up her whole face. "Of course. I've been waiting to be asked for a long time, too."

Very carefully, he leaned over and cupped her face with both hands. She tilted her head up expectantly. Their lips met. And, with the baby still wailing in Belle's arms, they shared their first kiss.

If asked to describe it, Alexander would have said Belle kissed the way she did everything else in life. She was gentle and passionate, and a little stubborn. It was he who first pulled back, though only to a mere inch away.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," she replied.

Alexander touched baby Guinevere on the head to show her she hadn't been neglected while he kissed her mother, then left to find different clothing and announce her birth to the expectant household.

_

* * *

Author's Note: Yay, lots of fluff in this chapter. The baby's finally here safely, and I've given her a name. No, I'm not finished, there's still several chapters in the works. Also, I've never given birth or been in the room for one, so to those readers who have, I hope what I've written here is at least plausible._

_I chose to name the Beast Alexander in this version in reference to the name the Bittersweet and Strange forum's RP gave him. I didn't take part in the 'Heroes of the Light' RP, but I enjoyed reading parts of it when I had time, and the forum has been a great sounding board for this fic—they were the ones who first encouraged me to post it. Plus they've been really wonderful friends for the past two years._

_Anyway, I've been through the debate about the Beast's human name before after posting my previous fic 'All Along.' Since he isn't named directly in the movie, I think it's perfectly plausible to choose whichever suits the character in fanfiction. I've deliberately named him differently here than in 'All Along' to show that I don't really think of him with one set, "official" name, even in my own head._

_SamoaPhoenix9_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	31. A Whole New World

**Chapter 30**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

Two days after Guinevere's birth, Belle lay in bed in the West Wing with her daughter in her arms. Gwen was asleep, and Belle was enjoying a few moments of quiet thought.

Curled up on the couch he'd insisted on dragged into the bedroom from the parlor was the Beast—_Alexander_, she reminded herself. She'd done her utmost in the past few days to remember to call him that, though he didn't always answer. He looked embarrassed whenever she had to call him twice, or resort to using "Beast" if she wanted his attention.

It should have been odd for her to see the currently-sleeping young man and the Beast as one and the same, but it wasn't. She _knew_, by some inner sense that she couldn't define. He didn't look anything like the Beast, except for his eyes. He'd also changed a great deal from the boy in the portrait hanging behind him. The hair was the same unique red-brown-blond, and the face was still strong-boned, but the sharpness had been softened and filled out by adulthood. He was tall—not quite as tall as the Beast, but still a considerable height—and strong. She'd discovered she liked watching the muscles shift under his clothes when he wasn't paying attention. In fact, she was surprised to find how attracted to him she really was, despite her initial thoughts that the boy in the portrait would be handsome as a man.

He shifted a little on the couch. Belle smiled at his sleeping form. He was curled up in a way that made him seem almost bearlike. Maybe that was what made her so certain whenever she saw him that man and Beast were one—Alexander _moved_ like the Beast. That same half-stalk, that same sense that he commanded all attention in a room but would rather it be anywhere else, the same expressions. The same way of running his fingers through her hair.

Gwen turned her head but didn't wake up. Belle rocked her gently, smoothing back the baby's dark hair. It was hard to believe after all the months of worry, anticipation and pain, she was finally here. And she was perfect and healthy, after all they'd been through.

If only Maurice could be here to share the joy in the birth of his grandchild. Belle had had Cogsworth send a very discreet messenger to the bookseller's house. With him, he carried a note Belle had written explaining that the baby had come early, and she would come to fetch him as soon as possible. She also wrote that Gaston was dead, and the Beast and the rest of the household were safe.

She'd left out anything about the changes in the Beast and the castle. There was no way to explain, though she felt terrible for keeping things from her father. Cogsworth and Lumière had both offered to deliver the message personally, but Belle declined in favor of someone her father hadn't met in his brief time in the castle. She wanted to try to explain in person, though she still didn't understand it all herself.

She'd been right in her guesses that everyone in the castle had once been human, and that the transformation had taken place ten years before. She'd also been right that Alexander's choices had been the cause. The way he and the servants explained it, they had all been placed under a curse when he refused a hideous beggar woman shelter at Christmas. The beggar had turned out to be a magical enchantress who cast her spell because of the coldness in his heart. She changed Alexander into what he was on the inside—a Beast—and the castle and servants into how he perceived them. Namely, objects, and dark and gloomy. Belle had thought Alexander's ugly qualities had had to do with his monstrous form, but now it seemed he had been like that before the change.

For second, she hadn't believed it. But only for a second. Then she'd remembered the creature she'd first met. It had taken her months to accept he'd ever been human. He'd changed a great deal since then. Who he was on the inside had become different long before the outside had changed two days ago. And it was the man on the inside she'd fallen in love with.

Apparently, that had been what broke the spell. He had to learn to love, and be loved in return before he turned twenty-five. The strange rose she'd seen in the West Wing was a marker, telling anyone who looked at it exactly how much time had gone by, and how much he had left. Her confession seconds before his death had put everything back to the way it should be, and saved his life.

It was odder still to realize he was in fact a prince; a prince whose disappearance at age fourteen had been little remarked upon in the rest of the country, so small was the province he'd inherited from his parents. When she thought of princes—real ones, not the ones in fairy tales that kissed princesses awake—she pictured a richly dressed older man eating delicacies off a golden plate and turning up his nose at them. Nothing like Alexander, whose manners until recently had been anything but refined. Yes, he lived in a castle surrounded by servants, but she hadn't really considered what it meant.

There was a great deal about him she was learning in a short amount of time.

It was all a lot to take in, and there were times her mind fought against the truth of it. But the truth of her love for him, and his for her, couldn't be denied. She could see it in the way he looked at her. It wasn't a possessive leer, like Gaston's. It wasn't the usual goggle-eyed stare men gave her because of her looks either. It was something else entirely. She'd never had anyone look at her that way before, and it sent shivers down her spine.

When she glanced at Alexander again, his eyes were open. He smiled and sat up. "Sleeping?" he whispered with a glance at Gwen.

Belle nodded. "I sent Mrs. Potts out to get some rest. I don't know whether she will or not, but she needed the break." They had been taking turns between them and Mrs. Potts when Gwen fussed, though Mrs. Potts had been trying to take on more than her share.

"How are you feeling, Belle?" Alexander asked.

"Still sore," she admitted. "And tired. But I'm getting better every day. I hope Mrs. Potts will let me get up tomorrow." She grinned at him. "Thank you so much for bringing me that book. _Twelfth Night_ is a favorite of mine."

"Lumière recommended it," he admitted. "It looked too complicated for me when I tried the first page."

"You'll be there soon. And you'll like Shakespeare, I promise. He has a way with words no one else does."

"I trust your judgment," he said. He held out his arms. "I'll hold her, if you want to rest."

"Thank you," Belle sighed gratefully. They managed the hand-off without waking Gwen, and Belle took a long stretch once she was sure he had a firm grip on the baby. Alexander smiled down at the tiny pink form as he settled back onto the couch.

"You're so gentle with her," Belle remarked. "Anyone looking would think she was yours."

"She is."

"But what about—"

Alexander shook his head. "Gwen became mine that night just before Christmas, when you first put my paw on your stomach to feel her move. I felt it. I think you felt it, too. Something happened between all three of us that night. I didn't realize what it was until I saw Gwen's eyes. " He leaned forward a little, his eyes fixed on her. "I know what happened with Gaston won't ever go away, and I'm not trying to erase it. But you told Gaston yourself I was the father."

"I—" Belle stopped. She hadn't intended to imply to Gaston that the Beast had fathered her child. However, she was starting to realize that there was more to her 'mistake' than she'd initially thought. Deep down, she was discovering she had believed it. Alexander was right. She _had _felt something that night, something she couldn't explain. And Gwen had known whose daughter she was long before either of them. She had always been moving when the Beast was around.

Belle's eyes filled with tears. "You're taking on a huge burden you don't have to."

"I've been thinking about this since Christmas, Belle, ever since you read me that story about Mary and Joseph. It's true I don't really know what I'm getting into. My parents died when I was young. My father…he had my mother executed for adultery. He died a few years later. Everyone said he died of a broken heart."

Belle was shocked. "I'm…I'm so sorry, Alexander. I had no idea." She couldn't imagine experiencing such betrayal as a child. No wonder he had become so cold, so young.

"Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault." Alexander's face was set, and Belle realized how hard it was for him to talk about.

"You didn't have to tell me," she said.

"I do." For a moment, she could hear the Beast in his roughened voice. "You trusted me with your secrets, Belle. It's time I trusted you. And you have to understand. I know being Gwen's father won't be easy for someone like me. But I'll do my best."

"Someone like you?" Belle repeated. "Alexander, I can't think of anyone I'd rather be my daughter's father. No, you won't be perfect at it, but then I won't be a perfect mother. I've never done this before, either."

"Your parents at least were good to you."

"Weren't yours?"

She'd startled him. He blinked and sat back slightly.

"It seems to me all you can think about is how what happened between them took them both away from you. But didn't you have good times with them before that? Good memories that you can hold on to? My mother died, too, and it makes me very sad to think about her. Certainly I wish she were here to show me how to be the mother to Gwen that she was to me. Mrs. Potts is wonderful, of course, but it isn't the same. Still, I can't let any of that get in the way of all of the happy memories I have of Mama. She wouldn't want me to remember her by being sad. I doubt your parents would want you to have only angry memories of them."

"I spent a lot of time with my mother and her ladies-in-waiting when I was young," he said. His eyes were now far away. "We used to have fun together. The ladies liked to play all kinds of games when the lords weren't there. And I'd sit on my mother's lap on the days I had to be in court. I think…I _know_ she loved me. I remember her pleading with my father when I turned five to let me be a child awhile longer. But my father insisted I start my schooling so that I could grow up to become a good ruler someday. It was hard, and boring, and all I wanted was to be back with Mother. I resented Father for awhile, until I got used to schooling. Then it was just the way things had always been."

"It sounds like he did what he thought was best for you," Belle remarked.

He nodded reluctantly. "There was a time when I wanted to be just like him. He always knew the right answer when someone came to court to ask for his help. Sometimes people weren't happy with what he told them to do, but they did it. But then, when it was my mother who was the one in trouble, suddenly Father didn't know the right answer anymore. He thought he did, but if it was right, he wouldn't have spent the rest of his life wishing he could change what happened."

"You're not your father," reminded Belle. "And you can learn from his regrets as well as your own."

"I'd never hurt you and Gwen the way he hurt my mother and me," Alexander protested.

"I know. And that's why I think you'll be a good father to her."

They held each other's eyes. It was Gwen who broke the silence, waking up with one of her gentle mewing baby sounds. She opened her blue eyes and focused on Alexander's face for a full five seconds or so before going cross-eyed with the effort. He smiled down at her. Just looking at his expression, Belle knew she wasn't wrong about the kind of father he'd be.

There was a tap on the door, and Cogsworth entered.

"Your Highness," he said with a bow to Alexander. Then he bowed almost as deeply to Belle. "Mistress Belle."

Belle's insides squirmed a little. All the servants had been treating her with more deference than they had before the spell was lifted. She supposed it was out of gratitude for helping to break the curse, but it still made her uncomfortable.

"Yes, Cogsworth, what is it?" Alexander asked, sounding a little impatient.

"I do apologize for interrupting. We've received correspondence from the province's Regent Council. They've been running the province since the death of his Highness's father," Cogsworth explained to Belle. To Alexander, he added, "I took the liberty of writing to inform them of your…recovery."

"Recovery?" Alexander repeated with an eyebrow raised.

"From the debilitating illness that kept you from claiming your rightful place as ruler upon reaching your majority."

"Illness?" Belle and Alexander both choked at the same time, Belle with amusement, Alexander with annoyance.

Cogsworth looked affronted. "What was I supposed to tell them?" he demanded. "Your Highness has long passed the age when you should have taken the throne."

"He has a point," Belle soothed. "I don't really like lying, either, but you can't exactly tell the truth. My father got a taste of that; they'll lock you up."

Alexander glared at her for a moment, then sighed and relaxed. "I suppose. What did the Council have to say, Cogsworth?"

"On paper, they are delighted with your return," the heavyset man admitted. "In person, they may be less so. After all, they have ruled the province for nearly fifteen years. Even if they were happy about relinquishing that power, which some of them may not be, the most honorable souls will wonder if your Highness is able to rule well after so many years of isolation." He paused, and his posture lost some of its formality. "Master, if I may say, this will not be easy. It will take a considerable amount of work to regain your rightful place. However," here he gave a short nod, "I believe you are up to the challenge."

"I'll do everything I can to help you," Belle said.

"As will we all," Cogsworth agreed. He gave Alexander a significant look, then shot his small, dark eyes towards Belle for a moment. "I shall leave you two to discuss this news. Remember, all of us are willing to offer council at any time."

"Thank you, Cogsworth," Alexander said with a nod. Cogsworth bowed to both of them and departed.

"What did he mean by that?" Belle asked.

"Belle…"

Immediately, Belle was slightly on her guard. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He tucked Guinevere carefully into the cradle that had been set up near the bed for the purpose. Gwen did not object, but settled down to go back to sleep. Alexander came back to sit on the bed next to Belle. "I just don't know how to start."

"Does this have to do with the Regent Council?"

"In part, though I didn't know Cogsworth had contacted them. I'd hoped to have a little more time to get used to things."

"Maybe it's better not to get too comfortable, if these past two days aren't how things are going to be for the foreseeable future," Belle pointed out. Sensing he was dodging her original question, she asked, "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"The future," he admitted. He looked at her, then away, choosing instead to watch Gwen sleep. "Our future. Belle, I love you. I can't imagine the rest of my life without you in it. When you were gone…everything was wrong. I…will you…"

Suddenly Belle understood. "Of course I'll marry you. I can't imagine the rest of my life without you, either."

Now he did look at her. The look in his eyes made her heart begin to pound wildly. He leaned over and kissed her, and Belle was suddenly very aware of every place their bodies were touching. A shiver ran down her spine, which unfortunately twinged where she was still sore from giving birth. The pain brought her mind back from the dizzying heights where it had been swooping during their kiss.

She pulled back a little. "What does getting married have to do with the Regent Council?"

"What?" he said, obviously still distracted.

"You said what you had to talk to me about had to do in part with the Regent Council. But what you really wanted was to ask me to marry you, right? So—" Then a thought occurred to her. "Oh. Will they object so much to their prince marrying a commoner who has a child out of wedlock?"

"Um, well, not the way Cogsworth explained it…"

A noise at the door made them both turn. Standing there were Cogsworth, Lumière, Mrs. Potts, Madame, Babette and Chip. Mrs. Potts had her son in her arms, and Babette and Lumière were holding hands.

Belle flushed, and she could see Alexander's ears were going red. "I didn't know we had an audience," she said.

"I didn't either," he growled. "What exactly are you all up to?"

"Forgive us, Master," Lumière said smoothly. "But Cogsworth told us you were going to propose the lady, and we wished to be on hand for the momentous event. It seems we arrived too late. Are we to offer congratulations?"

"Yes, I think so," Belle said when Alexander didn't seem inclined to answer. "That, is, unless you think the Regent Council will try to keep us apart?"

"I'd like to see them try," rumbled Alexander, again the Beast evident in his voice.

"I doubt they will object to you personally, once they have the chance to make your acquaintance," Cogsworth said to Belle, ignoring his Master. "As for your pedigree, which might have been an issue, I took it upon myself to look up your mother's name after you mentioned that she came from a noble family. If she was the Celeste d'Este I found in one of my noble histories, then she was the granddaughter of the fifth Count d'Este before her brother, the heir, ruined the family. It isn't a great deal of noble blood, of course, but it is enough to silence any real objections."

"My mother's maiden name _was_ Celeste d'Este," Belle admitted. "And it fits with the little she told me about her childhood. Thank you, Cogsworth. That saves us a great deal of worry. But what about Gwen?" She glanced at the sleeping baby. As if her name had triggered something, Gwen started to cry. Mrs. Potts put Chip down, and the little boy proceeded to Gwen's cradle. He gave her a finger to hold, and she quieted immediately to grasp it and examine this new person with her cross-eyed stare.

"Thank you, Chip," Belle said gratefully.

"As for Guinevere," Lumière said, "What the Council does not know won't hurt them."

"I think what he means is if we're married, and I acknowledge Gwen as my daughter, then she is," Alexander explained.

"Quite right, sire," Cogsworth put in, "Particularly if you are married before either of you meets the Council. They will assume, without any need for subterfuge on our part, that the marriage predates the child's conception. I can assure you no one in this household will ever breathe a word to the contrary. They are too grateful to their Master and future Mistress for restoring them to think of disloyalty. And even if such an egregious breach of trust were to be made, as long as the Master claims paternity, that ends any dispute."

"But…" said Belle, her mind whirling a little, "…but that makes Gwen the heir to the province—a princess! Surely…"

"You'll be a princess, too, Belle, if you marry me," Alexander pointed out. "Does it bother you that much?"

"No, but—isn't it important that a child who's of the royal line inherit?"

"If, in the future, the union produces a male heir, then his claim would supersede that of a female, even a female born first," Cogsworth announced, oblivious to the embarrassment this remark caused both Belle and Alexander.

"If we don't," Alexander added very quietly, his ears still a brilliant crimson, "Then we'll deal with it when the time comes."

Belle reached out, took his hand, and squeezed. She was nowhere near ready to think about more children, even children with the man she loved. It was good to know there would be no pressure, at least not from Alexander, to produce an heir.

"So, Cogsworth said after a pause, "When shall we plan the wedding?"

"Once I've been able to fetch my father," said Belle at once. "I wouldn't dream of getting married without him there."

"Of course, of course," Lumière replied soothingly.

"And nothing elaborate, please," Belle requested. "A quiet ceremony."

"Oh, but your marriage should be—" Cogsworth started.

Alexander cleared his throat. It was a small noise, but enough of a growl that it stopped what Cogsworth had been going to say.

"Small it is," Lumière said, but he looked just as disappointed as Cogsworth.

"We'll have a big celebration some other time," Belle said, trying to compromise, "Just not this soon. Maybe when the Regent Council comes to visit? They are coming sometime, right?"

"They wrote that they plan to come here to see his Highness in a month's time," Cogsworth reported with a respectful nod.

"Well, that's perfect, then," Belle said with a smile. "That way you have enough time to plan everything down to the last detail rather than putting things together quickly. You can give the project all the attention it deserves."

"Very true," Lumière said with a nod. Both male servants looked much happier and even Mrs. Potts looked pleased.

"We're going to have a party?" Chip asked.

"A wonderful party," his mother agreed.

"I can't wait!" the little boy grinned. "When can we get started?"

"Right away, if you wish," Lumière said. "Come. We'll go to the kitchens and begin." Chip jumped up happily, and he and the rest of the servants left one by one with slight bows and murmurs of congratulations.

Belle sighed and leaned back on the bed. "I hope they don't make a habit of appearing like that when we're alone in the future."

"They won't. We'll lock the doors next time," he assured her. "I'm glad you asked for a quiet ceremony. I dread what Cogsworth and Lumière working together would have come up with for our wedding if you hadn't said something."

Belle laughed. "Well, now that we are alone, and Gwen miraculously went back to sleep after all that commotion, would you like to read _Robinson Crusoe_? Hopefully Gwen will cooperate long enough for us to get a little bit in."

His eyes lit. "I'll go get it."

_

* * *

_

_Author's Note: A nice long chapter for you. No, still not done. Some stuff still to wrap up. Now I just have to figure out where I want to leave my little Beauty and the Beast family and what I want to leave to your imaginations about their future._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	32. Ever Ever After

**Chapter 31**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

Belle sat in the driver's seat of a simple farm cart, reigns in hands, dressed in a plain dress and apron. Philippe, steady as ever, pulled the cart on the path between the castle and the village. It was a week after the momentous events at the castle and she was finally strong enough for Mrs. Potts to allow her to go to get Maurice. The former teapot had only agreed because the wedding needed to take place as soon as possible in order for the castle to be ready for the Regent Council's visit.

Beside her sat Alexander. Like her, he was dressed in peasant garb, in his case a simple cotton shirt, dark breeches, and brown leather boots. His hair was pulled back simply away from his face. To anyone looking at him, he might have been just another commoner, not worth a second glance. At least, that had been the desired effect. To Belle, he was still a bright center in her heart, and it was difficult for her to imagine _anyone_ overlooking him.

Seated in the cart, along with several stacks of books from the castle library, sat Lumière. He was also dressed in peasant clothes, which looked exceedingly odd on him given his usual immaculate appearance. He had insisted on accompanying Belle and Alexander, but every time Belle turned to check on him, he looked greener in the face from all the bumping of the cart. Now she knew why the servants had selected a carriage for them to rescue Maurice from the woods: it was well-sprung, and bounced nowhere near as much as this farm cart. Even Alexander had to grip the driver's seat relatively hard to keep from being rattled onto the road.

Gwen was back at the castle in the care of Mrs. Potts, though Belle had wanted to bring her. However, Mrs. Potts insisted the baby wasn't yet ready to go out among many people.

"She'll likely get sick," Mrs. Potts had said. "You want her well for the wedding, don't you?"

Belle had been forced to agree. This was the first time she'd been away from her daughter for any length of time, and her thoughts kept turning back to what the baby might be doing, and whether she missed her parents.

"Look!" Alexander pointed. "Two rabbits!"

Belle turned just in time to see two brown streaks with white tails vanish into the brush. She smiled. This was the fourth such comment in ten minutes. Alexander, at least, was enjoying every second of their outing, taking in all the sights he had missed after not leaving the castle grounds in over ten years.

It took them several hours to reach the village, though the path was no longer dark and overgrown. Once they did, Alexander stared around him with huge, fascinated eyes. "I've never _seen_ a peasant village before!" he whispered when she nudged his ribs to get him to close his mouth. "Are they all this noisy?"

"Mostly," Belle said, smiling in spite of herself. "Someday maybe we'll take Gwen to see Marseilles, or Paris. Cities are even noisier than a little provincial town like this."

They attracted some attention as they drove through the village, though Belle detected nothing in the stares but curiosity. Her disappearance for half a year likely _had_ caused some comment, especially since Maurice had been locked up in the Maison des Lunes for most of that time. She smiled and nodded at everyone she saw, just as she had always done in the past.

When they passed the bakery, the baker hailed them and Belle drew the cart to a stop. "Good morning, Belle," he said, as casually as if they had seen one another the day before.

"Good morning,_ monsieur_," she returned, just as politely.

"And where are you off to?" he asked.

"The bookshop," Belle replied. "We have a delivery for the bookseller. And we're here to get my father."

"Ah," the baker said. His small eyes took in the cart, the books, Lumière, and Alexander. He nodded, as if satisfied. "Have you been well?"

"Yes, very well," Belle answered vaguely. Remembering protocol, she asked, "And how is your wife?"

"She's well. She'll be glad to know you're all right. She was worried about you, you know, when you vanished into thin air like that."

"She's too kind. I'm truly sorry for worrying her," Belle said.

"I'll tell her for you. Take care of yourself, Belle. We wish you well," the baker said. He nodded to all three of them. Belle thanked him and urged Philippe forward again.

Once they were further down the street, Alexander twisted around to look behind them. He shook his head. "You were right, Belle. The bakery is mobbed. Mostly women, I think."

Belle grinned, though she kept her eyes ahead. "With any luck, they'll all be making up their own stories now about where I've been. Traveling with book merchants, probably."

"What will they think when they next hear of you?" asked Lumière. "You're to be their princess."

"I hope never to have to come back to find out," Belle said. "But the ladies here are romantic. I can think of several wonderful untrue stories about the bookseller girl finding the prince the perfect book and falling in love."

"But you did do that," Alexander pointed out. "That's just not everything that happened."

"True."

The young man put his arm around Belle, and she snuggled close.

---

When they arrived at the bookshop, the bookseller immediately put his head out the door. He waved at Belle, then went back inside. A minute later he and Maurice came to stand on the stoop. Maurice had improved remarkably in the past week. He was still too thin, but was no longer pale and his movements had energy to them again.

Belle leapt down from the cart and flung her arms around her father. He hugged her so hard she could barely breathe, but she didn't care. "I'm so sorry, Papa."

"You made the right choice, Belle," her father said, releasing her. "I might not like it, but from what I read in your note, you arrived at the castle just in time. I wish I could have been there for your daughter's birth, but I have years ahead with her to make up for it. What's she like?"

"She's the most beautiful thing," Belle gushed. "We've named her Guinevere."

"'We?'"

"I—" Suddenly Belle was speechless. She turned back to the cart to the two men for help.

Lumière clambered down to the cobblestones. He grinned widely and bowed to Maurice. "'_Allo_, _monsieur_. I am glad to see you are safe and well after that dreadful cellar."

Maurice's skin grew ashen again. "But…you were…" He moved his two hands to indicate approximately Lumière's former height as a candelabra. Lumière nodded. "We are all restored, thanks to your courageous daughter."

Maurice turned to look at Alexander, who climbed from the cart to stand beside Belle and put a hand on her shoulder. The young man moved slowly, as if afraid to frighten Belle's father. He didn't say anything, just stood there towering over them all in his simple peasant clothes, his blue eyes fixed on Maurice. He hadn't worn a cape, but in that moment, who he was and what he had been was unmistakable to anyone who had seen the Beast.

Maurice went even whiter. "_You_." His eyes darted across Alexander's face, up and down his tall frame, and then to that hand on Belle's shoulder.

Alexander stayed calm, though Belle could feel him shaking a little. "It's me. And I owe you many apologies for what I did to you and Belle."

"I—I—well…" Maurice stuttered. He worked his mouth like a fish, but didn't seem to be able to make any more sound come out.

"What is going on?" the bookseller asked, breaking the tension. He was looking between all of them with an extremely puzzled expression. "Who are these people, Belle?"

Belle, Alexander, Lumière and Maurice all opened their mouths at the same time.

The bookseller held up a hand. "Hold on. I think, Belle, it's time you give that explanation you owe me. I have a feeling some things will sort themselves out if you do. Come inside, all of you."

"Yes, thank you," said Belle. She felt immensely grateful to the bookseller. He was so kind, and always seemed to know what to say. How could she possibly show her gratitude? A sudden idea occurred to her; but explanations came first. She took Alexander's hand, and led him into the store.

Out of the corner of one eye, she saw Maurice look at their joined hands. He shook his head a little, but she was certain there was a very small smile on his face.

---

On the way back to the castle, it was Lumière who drove the cart. Alexander, Belle, and Maurice rode in the back. They had left the bookseller behind in a state of shock, not only at the story they'd told, but at the offer to come to the castle as Royal Librarian. He said he'd have to consider it, but the consideration lasted only a moment before he accepted. Even as they drove back through the forest, he was packing up his small shop.

Maurice was also still in shock, though not quite as bad as the bookseller's. He kept eyeing Alexander as if completely unsure what to make of him. Belle had done her best to explain, but she knew Alexander was going to have to show Maurice how much he'd changed if he was ever going to win her father's complete trust.

At least Maurice had overcome his shock enough to give them permission to marry. Considering how much trouble Alexander had had asking Belle face-to-face for her hand, asking Maurice for his blessing had been much more straightforward. The young man had only stumbled twice over his words, and Belle was proud of him for it.

"Belle! Hey, Belle, come out!"

The furious shout startled all four of the cart's occupants. Lumière jerked Philippe to a halt hard enough to make the horse whinny in protest. Belle lurched to her knees to peer over the cart's rail.

Lefou stood there in front of Philippe. Another second and he would have been trampled had it not been for Lumière's quick response.

"Lefou!" Belle scrambled down out of the cart and approached him. "Lefou, are you all right?"

"You need to ask?" Suddenly, he had drawn a long knife and was pointing it at her. "You murdered Gaston, and yet you act as if nothing happened?"

Belle froze. "Lefou, I didn't murder Gaston. What happened to him was an accident." She didn't mention the prominent role Gaston had played in his own demise. That wouldn't help his grieving friend.

"You didn't stop him from dying, did you? You let it happen!" the short man accused.

"There was nothing I could have done," Belle protested. "He fell."

"And after I helped you!" Lefou continued as if she hadn't spoken. He held the knife closer to her. Belle took a step back, tripped over a root, and fell.

"Belle!" cried Maurice.

"Lefou, don't!" she begged. As he stood over her, all she could think of was she hadn't come so far to leave Gwen and the Beast now. Was this how he had felt as he lay dying?

A shadow stepped between her and Lefou. "Leave her alone," said Alexander's voice. She could hear the iron control in his voice. "I'm the one you want."

"What?" said Lefou, momentarily taken aback by this new, unfamiliar, face. "Who're you?"

"Promise you won't attack anybody here, and I'll tell you," Alexander replied.

Lefou was obviously confused by this, but after heavy thought, he said, "I promise."

Alexander nodded. "My name is Alexander. I'm the one who pushed Gaston off the causeway of my castle, though Belle is right, it was an accident."

Now Lefou was looking between Alexander and Belle in utter bewilderment. The knife slid to the ground. Alexander reached down to help Belle to her feet. He pulled her into a tight embrace as soon as she was steady. Belle hugged him back, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Hey," said Lefou. "You're not pregnant anymore."

Belle stifled a laugh. "No. I had a little girl a week ago. Her name is Guinevere."

"Gwenny…" Lefou stumbled.

"We call her Gwen for short."

"Listen, Lefou. What will killing either of us accomplish?" Alexander asked. "It won't bring Gaston back. Your life won't improve. In fact, it will probably get worse, since you'll be pursued as a murderer."

"It will avenge Gaston!" Lefou replied, clenching his fists.

"But why, Lefou?" Belle pointed out. "Gaston was never nice to you, from what I saw. He kept secrets from you. Why would you want to avenge him?"

"He's looked after me our whole lives," Lefou said miserably. "And now he's gone. What else am I supposed to do? He'd do it for me."

"Would he?" Belle asked. Lefou's hesitation told her how uncertain of that he was.

"You were close to Monsieur Gaston, no?" asked Lumière, speaking for the first time.

"His best friend," Lefou answered proudly.

"And he had no other family?"

"No one. His Daddy died, oh…" Lefou started counting on his fingers. "Maybe…eight?…ten?…six? years ago? There weren't any other kids."

"So I see no reason why you shouldn't inherit all of his property," Lumière said. "You were closest to him, after all, and there is no one else to claim it. I presume he had a house, some land?"

Lefou nodded. "And horses," he said, as if not wanting forget this detail.

"Then it should all come to you," Alexander said.

"You can start your own life, and do whatever you want," added Belle, with a smile for Lumière. "Come back with us to the castle. We'll see it all arranged."

"The castle?" Lefou repeated.

"Ah, but the Master has neglected to tell you," chuckled Lumière. "Surely you knew you were threatening the prince of the province and his bride-to-be?"

"I…uh…no—" Lefou stared between Belle and Alexander. "You're getting married? To him? And you're a prince? I…"

"Never mind," Belle said, shaking her head at Lumière. It was all too much for poor Lefou to take in.

"What? It would have come out sometime," the maitre d' protested.

"It didn't have to be all at once," Belle answered. At least no one had mentioned that Alexander was the Beast Gaston had been hunting. "Come on, Lefou. While we're at the castle, I'll take you to see Gwen. You'll like her."

"Gaston's daughter," Lefou said wonderingly. Belle saw Alexander wince, but mercifully he chose to say nothing. She put a hand on his arm to soothe him. He smiled down at her, then boosted her up into the cart. He handed Lefou up, then climbed in himself.

"Let's go, Lumière. This is turning out to be a longer day than I expected."

But Lumière didn't move. He was staring at something in the road ahead.

"Lumière? Is everything all right?" asked Belle.

"Lumière?" Alexander tried. Still no response. Exchanging glances, Belle and Alexander made their way to the front of the cart, Maurice and Lefou not far behind. They peered over Lumière's shoulder. Alexander suddenly gripped Belle's arm, hard.

A gorgeous blonde woman in flowing green robes stood patting Philippe's head. The horse was calm under her touch, which reassured Belle a little. However, both Alexander and Lumière were acting as if she had two heads. Neither man could take his eyes off her, and Belle could feel Alexander's palm sweating through her dress sleeve. Lumière was shaking slightly.

"It's her," Alexander finally managed. "The enchantress."

_

* * *

Author's Note: One more surprise up my sleeve for ye faithful readers. You knew the enchantress had to turn up again sometime! I think the next chapter will probably be the last one._

_I didn't want Lefou to disappear into the ether; as a good author I needed to be sure he wasn't just a plot device. He needed the ending of his own story too._

_Wow, over 100,000 words! This is the longest story I've ever written that wasn't co-authored. I've really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you've all enjoyed reading it. I've never gotten so many reviews! Apparently this little experiment of mine was a good one._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	33. Kiss from a Rose

**Chapter 32**

_Disclaimer: For the last time, I don't own Beauty and the Beast or its characters._

The enchantress looked exactly as she had when Alexander had first seen her more than ten years ago, and in his dreams more recently. She was young and incredibly tall for a woman, with perfect creamy skin, full rose-colored lips, sparkling green eyes that matched her robes exactly, and flowing golden hair. The only main difference between now and their first meeting was that she was no longer the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Even seeing her in the flesh again after so long, he thought Belle was lovelier. Belle's beauty was more genuine. Compared to her, the enchantress's looks seemed supernatural, almost too perfect to be real.

The enchantress glanced between Alexander and Lumière, and laughed, a light, silvery sound.

"Why, you don't seem pleased to see me," she said.

Alexander opened his mouth to say no, he wasn't pleased, but thought better of it.

She nodded to him, as if she'd read his mind. "Understandable. I don't expect you to enjoy our visits, after what I did to you."

"Visits?" Lumière repeated.

"So those dreams of you…they were real?"

"Of course they were. You knew that, didn't you? You certainly acted as if you believed we had those little conversations."

"I…I wasn't sure whether to believe them or not."

"You were right. I did my best to help you, when I thought you needed that extra push in the right direction. You passed your final test without any aid from me, however."

"Test?"

"Him." The enchantress waved at Lefou, who vanished. Belle and Maurice both jumped.

"Where did he go?" asked Belle, sounding alarmed.

"Where you two would have sent him—the late Gaston's home. I've just sped things up for you. All of the boring legal niceties transferring Gaston's property to him have been taken care of as well. He'll think you generously deeded it all to him a few days ago. I guarantee he won't trouble you again." She looked back at Alexander. "You could have easily killed him, or sentenced him to die, for threatening the woman you love. Many—if not most—other men in your position would have done so. Instead, you controlled your temper and offered him clemency."

She smiled at him, but it wasn't the mocking smile he was used to seeing. Instead it was kind, and he thought he detected a hint of pride. "You've become the ruler, and the man, you should have been had you not lost your heart at the deaths of your parents. You learned the lesson I set out to teach you—and more. In fact, you've surpassed my expectations."

He jumped down out of the cart, shaking off Belle's restraining hand on his shoulder. Slowly, he walked up to stand eye to eye with the enchantress. They were nearly of an equal height; she stood barely an inch taller. He remembered how she had loomed over him the night she'd cast the spell. She looked straight into his eyes without flinching.

"You think I didn't do you a favor by transforming you?" she asked, very quietly.

"I lived for ten years as a monster with nothing but a desperate, impossible hope that nearly drove me mad. Now that the spell is over, I don't even recognize myself in the mirror anymore. I was nearly killed because I looked like an animal, not a human. I wouldn't call that a favor," he said boldly.

"The hunter tried to kill you because he saw you as a rival for Belle's hand, not as an animal," the enchantress replied. "And that being the case, my spell saved your life. If Belle hadn't declared her love when she did and the spell hadn't restored everything, including your human body, you would have died. There was nothing I could have done about that. And do you really want to know what your adolescence as a spoiled human boy would have looked like? Or the tyrannical, womanizing man you would have grown into? I can show you, if you wish to see that. It's worse than anything you ever experienced as a Beast, believe me. The most terrible part of it is, you would have been desperately unhappy and not even known why, and you would have taken it out on anyone and anything that came into contact with you.

"Now, look around. You're about to marry a woman you love more than your own life, and who loves you back just as fiercely. You changed your ways for _her_, in order to become someone worthy of her love and respect. You have a beautiful daughter you'll help raise into a fine young lady, and more children if you and your wife so choose. You have a household full of servants who are loyal, and not because they fear you. You've become a good man who strives to do the right thing, not merely ensure justice is done. All of that came about because of the consequences of my spell. Now look me in the eye and tell me I didn't do you a favor, Prince Alexander."

"And Gaston?" he asked.

"What about him?"

"He was just as selfish and cruel as I once was. Yet you didn't transform him, or send him on a quest like Queen Guinevere did for Sir Gawain, even after what he did to Belle."

"Not everyone can be saved, Alexander. You've learned this by now. He made his choices, but unlike you, and Sir Gawain for that matter, he did them knowing the possible consequences. Though it was noble of you to offer him another chance." She sighed, and looked away briefly. "Seeing the future is a burden sometimes, knowing there are those that can't be helped even if I were to intervene. It all depends on human choices in the end, not on any sort of magical help—or punishment—I can bestow."

"I—I understand."

"I know you do. Taking up your throne means you already understand a little of my burden, though the help you and Belle will dispense won't be magical." She smiled that lovely, genuine smile at him again, though a hint of mockery had returned. "You don't have to thank me. Your thanks can be by remembering one simple thing: Alexander, you've been kissed by a rose. You have to accept the thorns as well as the petals."

She took a step backward so that she could see Belle, Lumière and Maurice in the cart. "I wish all of you luck. Especially you, Belle. You haven't walked an easy road, either, and partially through my doing. For that, I'm sorry. But you're better for it, I think."

Belle nodded. "I'm not sorry to have Alexander and Gwen in my life, if that's what you mean."

"What a lovely way of putting it. You were always diplomatic. Reminds me of another brave woman I once knew." The enchantress snapped her fingers, and her delicate wand became a long wooden staff. She tapped it once on the ground, and her entire form changed.

For a moment, Alexander thought she had transformed back into the crone's shape she had used to test him. But though the figure was cloaked, it was clearly an old _man_ standing there in deep blue velvet robes, a man with a long gray beard.

"Funny you mentioned Gawain," he said casually to Alexander, "His case was one I was quite proud of, too." He chuckled, clearly enjoying the younger man's shock. "Didn't I tell you not to allow appearances to deceive you?" He tapped his staff on the ground twice, and vanished.

There was a long silence. Finally, Maurice managed, "Would anyone care to explain what just happened?"

"I'm not sure," Belle said, her voice wobbling, "But I _think _that was—"

"I don't even want to think about it," Alexander interrupted. The idea of being tested by someone he'd thought was only a story was extremely unnerving. That he'd been found—dare he think it?—_worthy_, like Sir Gawain or King Arthur, was more unnerving still. He climbed back into the cart, and settled himself beside Belle. "Let's go home. We have a wedding to get ready for."

-0-0-

A month later, Alexander stood uncomfortably in the grand ballroom, holding himself back as hard as he knew how from pacing. Why he was this nervous, he wasn't sure. Most of the more important events since the castle's transformation had already happened. He and Belle had finally been married in the quiet ceremony both had hoped for. They hadn't consummated the marriage yet, but no one knew that but themselves. Alexander had promised to wait until Belle was ready, and was holding to it. However, it was unexpectedly comforting to have someone else there when he woke from nightmares, which had not entirely gone with the departure of the enchantress? enchanter? from his life. And he was there to hold Belle close when her sleep was disturbed with nightmares of her own.

The Regent Council had arrived two weeks after their marriage, and according to Cogsworth were "most impressed" with both Alexander and Belle.

Now, this evening, was the long-awaited grand ball. Every local noble and some of the more important merchants and other wealthy commoners of the province had been invited, and stood glittering in small groups on the polished floor. Alexander himself stood alone on the small dais built in front of the glass doors to the balcony. These would be opened later so the guests could enjoy the warm spring air, but for now they were closed for the start of the ball. He wore his best blue suit with the gold trim and ruffled white cravat—somehow all of his clothes that would have fit the Beast had changed to fit a man of his size.

The only person, in fact two people, missing were Belle and Guinevere. Belle's arrival as hostess would signal the opening of the ball, and Gwen would come in with her mother. Cogsworth and Lumière had already overridden Mrs. Potts' objections that a fancy ball was no place for a month-old infant. People would want to see the heir to the province, if only to make certain she was healthy. And she only need be there for a minute or two, then Mrs. Potts could whisk her off to bed. Gwen had already slept most of the day, so odds were good she would be wide awake by the time the ball started and ready to deal with two minutes of intense attention.

A flourish of trumpets announced Belle and Gwen were ready to enter. Cogsworth, dressed in so much gold braid it was hard to see the brown velvet underneath, came through the double doors first. He struck a long staff on the floor twice to command the attention of the already expectant room.

"Presenting her Royal Highness Princess Belle, her Highness Princess Guinevere, and her Highness's caretaker, Madame Potts," he announced. Then he stepped aside.

Into the room came Belle. Alexander's mouth went dry at the sight of her. She wore the yellow silk gown he had given to her for Christmas, the one with the wide skirt that cascaded like a glittering waterfall. She wore matching yellow gloves that hid her arms to the elbows and golden pearl earrings, but little other adornment: no necklace, no bracelets, no tiara, no other jewels of any kind. Her hair had been combed until it shone and piled on her head to tumble down in gorgeous brown ringlets to her shoulders. He couldn't wait to run his fingers through them and straighten them out again later. For now, he could admire the picture they made against her porcelain skin. She had looked beautiful at their wedding, too, but her dress had been far simpler, just a long white gown with a medieval-looking cut. That she would choose this dress, tonight, meant all that much more.

She came walking slowly, regally, across the ballroom to meet him, head high, a smile beaming across her face. The only hint of her nerves that he could see was in how tightly her hands were clasped before her. He could see the imprint of her wedding band on her left ring finger through the thin silk of the gloves.

Behind her came Mrs. Potts, carrying Gwen. Gwen looked as if she had no idea what to make of any of this, staring around with wide blue eyes and a very solemn expression. She wore a long white dress that reached at least a foot past her tiny feet and was trimmed with very soft lace. Alexander sighed softly with relief. At least she wasn't crying and seemed intrigued by the crowd rather than afraid.

Belle stepped onto the dais very carefully, and managed not to trip as she had when they rehearsed everything the day before. Alexander bent down and took her bare shoulders in both hands. He was supposed to just kiss her cheek, but instead ignored Cogsworth's instructions and kissed her lips, very gently and quickly. Belle smiled mischievously at him and whispered, "I hoped you were going to do that."

"Cogsworth can scold me later," he answered with a very slight shrug.

Belle turned and took Gwen from Mrs. Potts, who melted discreetly to the side. The three posed there on the dais for a moment, letting the crowd look at them. Then, at Lumière's subtle gesture, the orchestra began to play.

Alexander bowed to his wife. "May I have this dance?" he asked, as pompously as he dared.

Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter, but she looked down at the baby in her arms.

"We'll both carry her, only for a minute. Then Mrs. Potts can take her," he reassured her. Belle nodded, and allowed him to lead her to the center of the floor. Sliding a hand beneath Gwen, he spun them very slowly, as if this was exactly how they had rehearsed it. Both parents kept their eyes on the baby, smiling down at her, and she twisted her mouth up in an attempt to smile back. They did this for only a short time, but Alexander wanted to remember forever what it felt like, to be human again after so long, to hold both Belle and their daughter, and to forget about everyone else in the room.

Mrs. Potts came forward, and Belle placed Gwen carefully in her arms. Then she kissed the baby's cheek and Alexander smoothed Gwen's hair, before the nurse carried her away to bed.

Belle turned back to Alexander. There was a question in her eyes. For answer, he held out a hand. No over-exaggerated gestures this time, only a question of his own. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her in close. As always, she fit perfectly into his arms. They looked at each other, realizing in the same instant that neither had danced formally for years. Other couples were coming onto the dance floor, and they stood completely still in the center of it all.

Belle was the first to laugh. "We'll get through this together," she said. "Come on. Just watch the other men. I'll watch the women." She took a step backwards, forcing him to move with her.

They stumbled for a minute or two, but they kept moving. No one else seemed to notice their mistakes. Eventually, they found their rhythm, and spun around the room with as much confidence as any of the other couples. Alexander saw Cogsworth, Lumière, Madame, Babette, and many of the other servants beaming at them from various corners of the room. Lumière even threw them a broad wink. Alexander grinned back.

A new song began to play, a slower tune, and Belle leaned forward to rest her head on his chest. "I still can't believe it sometimes," she murmured to him.

He didn't need to ask what she meant. "Neither can I. I never imagined what life would be like even if I did break the spell. That it would be _this_ life—" He shrugged, lost for words.

"I understand." She leaned back to look at him. "Do you think someone will ever write a story about us, the way they did with Sir Gawain, and King Arthur and Queen Guinevere?"

"You always could. Like the book you made me for Christmas."

She snorted softly. "I wouldn't be up to the challenge. Besides, our story isn't over yet. It's just started."

The End

* * *

_Author's Note: Well, it's that time, folks. Oscar speech! I can't believe it's finally over. I've been writing this story since last summer. It seems like forever, and no time at all. I won't hesitate to say it's been one of my favorites, and I've gotten very emotionally involved. There have been way too many nights staying up past a reasonable bedtime to write just one more sentence that turns into two, three more… Anyway._

_This chapter specifically: I thought I'd have some fun with the real identity of the enchantress, after all the time we spent at Camelot._

_Usually I take this time to thank everyone who's reviewed my story personally by penname. However, in this case I think that would be impossible. I've never gotten so many reviews on any story! So I will thank all of you, every single person who reviewed, from the bottom of my heart. In particular, I want to thank the ones who left reviews with criticisms. Even if I didn't change anything in response to your critiques, they are always appreciated because they make me think._

_I want to send a special thank you to the folks at Bittersweet and Strange. You were the ones who encouraged me to post this when I thought it would stay just a weird fantasy on my computer._

_I did quite a bit of research, reading all kinds of articles about the psychological aftereffects of rape, trying to see how it would change someone like Belle. I've never been raped or sexually assaulted, but if you have, I've read that it helps a lot to tell someone you trust. No one should have to go through something like this alone. Like Belle, I hope you find your Beast—someone who you feel safe with and can open your heart to._

_It is now time for my chapter title acknowledgements. They are all song titles. They are: "Prologue," "Belle," "Be Our Guest," "Something There" and "Beauty and the Beast" from Beauty and the Beast, "Flowers in the Window" by Travis, "Respect" by Aretha Franklin, "How Long Must This Go On?" and "If I Can't Love Her" from Beauty and the Beast on Broadway, "Breakaway" by Kelly Clarkson, "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" by Pat Benatar, "Black Roses Red" by Alana Grace, "Heat Wave" by Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, "Somebody to Love" by Queen, "Getting to Know You" from The King and I, "Stories" from Enchanted Christmas, "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" (traditional Christmas carols),"You're the One That I Want" from Grease, "As Long as You Love Me" by the Backstreet Boys, "Kiss the Girl" from Little Mermaid, "If I Never Knew You" from Pocahontas, "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor, "Far From the Home I Love" from Fiddler On the Roof, "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, "Miracles Happen" by Myra (from The Princess Diaries), "Because You Live" by Jesse McCartney, "A Whole New World" from Aladdin, "Ever Ever After" by Carrie Underwood (from Enchanted), and finally "Kiss from a Rose" by Seal, which also inspired the story title. Whoo, that's a lot of chapters! As I said earlier in the story, I generally picked them because the theme of the song fit the mood of the chapter. If you listen to none of the others, at least listen to "Kiss from a Rose" once. It really sets the tone for the whole story that I was trying to create._

_Recommended reading (also works that inspired me while writing): _

"_Impossible" by Nancy Werlin. It's a book about a teenage girl under an ancient curse to get pregnant at seventeen, give birth to a daughter, and then go insane. Only true love can break the curse, which is based in the ballad "Scarborough Fair." This is a wonderful example of a young man becoming a father to a daughter that's not his because he's fallen in love with her pregnant mother. I read this book after I started "Kissed by a Rose," and I knew I had to recommend it to my readers. My favorite line? "Her daughter forever a daughter of mine."_

"_Beastly" by Alex Flinn. This one is sort of over-romanticized, but it's a modern Beauty and the Beast story from the Beast's point of view, which is helpful research for anyone writing from his perspective. Flinn captures his utter despair and loneliness well. I do plan to see the movie when it comes out._

_The classics: "Beauty" by Robin McKinley and "Beast" by Donna Jo Napoli. Any Beauty and the Beast retelling enthusiast should read these two books. "Beast," particularly, has some of the raw sexuality you rarely see in fairy tale retellings._

"_Redeeming Love" by Francine Rivers. This is a retelling of the Biblical book of Hosea, set during the California gold rush. Go into this book prepared. You won't ever look at the healing power of love—even sexual love—the same way again. I don't normally read Christian fiction, but I picked this one up on a whim and haven't regretted it._

"_The Wife of Bath's Tale" from the Canterbury Tales. My main inspiration for the Gawain story comes from this segment of the Tales. If you read nothing else of Chaucer, take half an hour out of your time to read this story. The language is obscure until you get into it, but if you get a version that's translated into more modern English you should be fine._

_The Bible. Surprise! This is where the Christmas story is found, with the stuff in the book of Matthew about Joseph's decision to become the earthly father of Jesus. Also, 1 Corinthians 13, what is known as "the love passage" wherein criteria for true love is described. Belle cribs some of it in one of my chapters. You will hear these verses read at virtually every Christian marriage you will ever attend._

_There is no "Arthur and Guinevere." I made it up, and all the parts of it Belle and the Beast talk about are a combination of Arthurian legends and my own imagination. (Sidenote: I am still mad that they changed the part in "Human Again" where Belle and the Beast are reading together from "King Arthur," as it is in the Broadway show, to "Romeo and Juliet" in the movie.)_

_I think that's about it._

_Edit 2/2/2012: If you want to read more about Belle and Alexander and their future, I have several one-shot additions to this universe. They can be found on my profile: _Face the Mirror_, a short one-shot that happens between the chapters "Because You Live" and "A Whole New World"; _The Christmas Rose,_ a story about the first Christmas in the castle after the spell is broken;_ _and _Daughter of the Beast, _which centers around Gwen thirteen years after _Kissed By a Rose _ends_.

_Thanks again and again and again for reading, and I hope you enjoyed our time together._

_Over and out,_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


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